Affinity
by Sgt Rypht
Summary: A set of several one-shots and scenes based off of Mass Effect 3 multiplayer characters. Follow the lives of soldiers and those who weren't destined to be.
1. Episode 1: Sayaek, Reverie

**Author's Notes:**

Hello everyone! Thanks for visiting my story! I'm just here to tell you a little bit about what Affinity stories as a whole are about.

This story focuses around several of my Mass Effect 3 Multiplayer Characters—before, during, and after the Reaper War. That being said, it is a strong focus on OCs. But, don't get too complacent! I might just sneak some canon characters in once and a while! The story itself is non-linear, meaning that I write most of the characters as they come to my head. This could be smaller scenes or full one-shots!

It will be a good story just to follow and learn about my aspect of the different races!

With that said, criticism is always welcome! I hope that you enjoy.

Updated: This file has been updated for better view pleasure as well as getting rid of some minor grammatical errors!

* * *

**ALSO: **  
If you ever want to play with me, just send me a friend request at my Xbox account:  
x Rypht x

If I don't jump into your party immediately, I may be busy. But, I will play with you and even talk on the mic. Just don't don't expect Platinum Difficulties out of me (I can do Gold, but barely. XD)

If you play PC or PS3, let me know as well. :) I will make the effort to procure a copy for each of those consoles as well just to play with you guys.

* * *

**Episode One: Sayaek: Reverie**

This was his happy face. It couldn't be seen from underneath his constant scowl or his rigid mannerisms, but Sayaek was actually in a rather pleasant mood.

He had arrived on Illium just a few hours before. He could remember the odd glances that he received upon stepping off of his vessel. An asari greeted him. Though she held the pleasantness of her job well, he saw right through her like well-cleaned window. She didn't enjoy his presence. In the first few seconds, she had made several assumptions about him—most were justified. On a simple glance, he would appeared like an ordinary merc; slightly broken and chipped armor, long scars across his face down to his lips, the cold fires in his eyes. But what yielded the most assumptions was one word: batarian. He was a batarian.

Sayaek remembered pushing thoughts from his mind as he watched this woman explain the laws of Illium in great detail. He was more than sure that no one else would have received such a thorough explanation. But he kept his cool. She was doing her job, perhaps a little too seriously. It wasn't until a half galactic hour later that he went on explaining his reasons on being here. The look on her face was priceless. She backed away with her drones, pale-faced and embarrassed.

"Good times," Sayaek said to no one in particular, aside from maybe his mug of beer.

Taking another draft of the beer, he glanced over his data pad. There were several names on his list that his contact had given him. A few he recognized from previous encounters. It was a shame that people tend to make the same mistakes. This volus was one of those people. Pitne For had a habit of getting in trouble far too many times. This time, the man couldn't keep his stubby fingers off of batarian imports. Not the illegal merchandise, he could keep those—they would make perfect evidence to slam him behind irons….or get him a bullet the head.

But he had made some deals with other races to ship batarian merchandise away. They were vital items that could help their already dying economic state. That he couldn't stand by and watch.

Sayaek was one of the only Judges left in their space. Though not half as rigid or as cold as asari justicar, Judges were probably just as rare. It wasn't because their training was hard. Nor was it that they must possess some high level of intelligence or skills (though that often helped on field).it was because batarians tend to avoid legality. Most people his age were with the Blues Suns, red sand dealers, or small-town smuggler. The Pillars of Strength taught him to be something different, more than just a thug.

He drained the rest of his beer. For a human beverage, it tasted pretty well made. It was hard to accept at first but, humans could make drinks and food, just one of their many talents. He only wished that he could say the same of his race. "Damn fools," he said, shaking off the stiffness of his body. He had a feeling that he was going to be using that word a lot today.

After paying the tab, Sayaek exited the bar. Force of habit made him exit covertly. It was practice. Years of practice learning how to make use of the slender anatomy that most forgo for bulk. In the words of the prophets; move quietly because you may not know what information you may pick up. It had served him right. You may miss some vital information because of the stomping of your boots. On the flip side, you are much harder to follow when everything you do moves like silk.

It took him a while to get back outside. The throng of people, businessmen and women of all races frantically shuffled through the cramped hallways. Finally, after slipping by a fairly slow human, he stood outside at the market district.

Asari knew how to dress up a planet. This was his second visit here, and he was still amazed. Buildings were tall; seemingly touching the skin of the sun-blazed sky. Lights of all different colors blinked for the skyscrapers. Taxis and transport vehicles soared above in blurs of color. Even with four eyes, it was hard to soak in everything that was going on. However, stupid volus don't bust themselves. He needed information.

He had heard rumors. This smuggling ring often resold their merchandise through various outlets. It was mostly dealing with weapons and mods. So, an outlet that sold both would be the mostly likely to find a link to the culprit, a link to For. There was only one that he could think of that would fit that description on this world.

He approached a small market kiosk known as Gateway Personal Defense in silent footsteps. It was small enough, with no customers currently purchasing anything. A rather bored looking asari stood beside it, leaning against the wall. "Miss…" Sayaek began, subsequently receiving a deathly stare. This is why he wasn't nice to people. They often retaliated with the opposite emotion.

"If you need assistance for becoming a Blue Suns, Eclipse, or any other mercenary group, I'm not the person to talk to. I just sell weapons."

It took all the power that he could muster not to walk over there and punch that pretty face off. He took in a jagged breath. "I'm not here…to join the Blue Suns..." She began to talk, only to be stopped by a raise of his hand. "And I already have a weapon." He tapped the M-5 Phalanx on his hip and his Revenant on his back. "One thing I don't have is information."

The asari woman sighed as she pushed herself off the wall. "What could you want? Looking for some humans to beat up?"

"Actually," Sayaek interrupted, "I'll looking for a volus to beat up. I thought you might help me with that."

She rolled her eyes. "So you are a free-lance then."

"I will enjoy that you drop of that pretentious attitude for a second," the batarian growled, causing the woman to snap up in attention. "I'm undercover and I would long prefer that you keep your mouth shut."

"So you are cop?" The surprise in her voice sounded like he just admitted that he was a father of a thresher maw.

"In essence yes and no," he said, slowly letting the taste of such a revelation melt in her mouth. "But that's beyond the point. I'm looking for Pitne For. My contacts tend to believe that your company may know something about them." He paused for a second to let the sales associate gather the information. "I'm hoping that you aren't involved considering you are just a worker here."

A cold moment burrowed its way into their conversation. Yes. He already knew who she was. She was one of the people on the smuggling ring list: Forae Tilan. He gave a tooth grin, one that only an experienced batarian could wield as a weapon. He was giving her a chance. A chance. Not three, not two, just one chance to redeem herself. He could easily ease the charges on some cooperation. He was flexible and open. But that wasn't going to be taken for weakness. If he deemed it, he would crush her underneath his heel.

Sayaek was still a ruthless man at heart, agreeable demeanor or not. Maintaining eye contact as he said, "Tell me where this man is." Fear tactics was something that he didn't mind using. Respect and fear were brothers in the psyche.

"He's…probably at the warehouse," she kept herself low. Sayaek rubbed his chin thoughtfully. She could be lying and it was time to check.

"Let's say he is at the warehouse…" he began. He fiddled with the end handle of the Phalanx, grin never fading. "Will I expect some…resistance there?" A small fidget of her shoulders was all he needed to know that it was true. Those were all the answers he needed, but he was still going to grill her. He wanted to see how deep her shovel will go for her own grave.

"Probably not," Forae spat out, followed by the worse poker face ever.

And there was it. She just lied to a professional, thus revoking his previous thought to ease her charge for cooperation. Besides, he wasn't going to give it to her anyway. She was scum. Just like Mr. For. He would just have to call some authorities to pick her up while he is on the way to the warehouse. It sounded easy enough. They were violating all sorts of trade laws; his organization just took it personally.

"Give me the coordinates, and I'll be on my way."

"No arrest..." It was a sluggish request that reached her dull blue eyes in hope.

"No arrest from me, I promise."

Forae gave a large sigh as she brought up her omnitool. With a few clicks, she brought up the location for the judge, who took it was a crisp nod.

Too bad she didn't listen that it wasn't going to be him doing the arrest. Anyone else was fair game. Clever wording has defeated a lot of people. "Thanks for your assistance. I have a ring to bust." As much as he wanted to add, and see you in jail, he just walked away. It would be much more interesting for her to see the authorities of Illium wheeling around the corner.

* * *

Blue Suns were everywhere.

He had grown to hate the mercenary group. It had become an outlet for so many of his races to lose their way that he had the very name left a bitter sting on his tongue. They were not all to blame. The caste system they lived in tore lives asunder. Very few batarians could not escape such walls. He was lucky. He was born of a prophet, a higher rank within the people. But that hardly meant anything He would give up all he had to change the way the system had grown.

It wasn't something he should think about now. It tended to wrap his thoughts in anger. Anger couldn't move quietly as calm. Sayaek was careful with his footsteps. His vision was top notch. He could see every corner, every flickering detail of the world despite the shadows. Though a great combat specialist, he preferred to avoid large fights.

With an unexpected amount of grace, he shifted from one point to another seamlessly. Cover to cover, shadow to shadow. It could have been mistaken for an infiltrator. A part of him grinned inside, they had it easy. They had tactical cloaks—a device that he had to learn without.

From the corner of the box that he was crouching behind, he saw them. There were two Suns; both thickly set batarians equipped with powerful looking assault rifles and heavy armor. From this distance, his bullet will just ricochet off the kinetic shields. He could probably kill one by stripping down his shield. But it will be too loud—the other would probably run off.

But…there was one that could probably kill both of them. Admittedly, it was one of his favorite tools to use. He pointed his fist in the direction of the men. "_Higher….higher…" _he noted mentally. With a flick of his wrist, the omnitool materialized in the shape of long-three pronged launcher. With a satisfying _clunk,_ the weapon fired sending a stream of blades hurtling through the air impaling both of the men in the head simultaneously. Ballistic blades, they called them. When aimed correctly, shields and barriers were as much protection as a piece of paper.

Sayaek exited the shadows to inspect the bodies. He fumbled through the slips in their armor to successfully find himself a key card. He dragged the nearest body closer the scanner, pressing the man's thumb against lock followed by a quick slide of the card. He kept the body upward for protection; the man's shield was still useful. Besides, the light was behind him making the mercenary appear in a silhouette alone, even if it was just for a brief second. The door slid open.

"Jorn, Forgor…" the man paused to huff out the sound of his suit. It was Pitne For. "What are you doing?"

"Just checking in boss," Sayaek mimicked. Not many could hear differences in voices if they weren't looking for it. This was especially the case with hired muscle.

"Then," Pitne huffed again, "what are you doing? Get back, to work."

Sayaek looked over the body for nothing less than a second to scope the surroundings. He saw that Pitne For was surrounded backed by four mercs counting inventory. Perfect. He removed a grenade from his side. "Sorry, I can't get back to work right now." With a blinding fast toss, he sent the inferno grenade flying through the air, exploding on contact.

Panic swept throughout the room as the remaining Suns struggled to figure out what was going on. With no appropriate answer, they fired. The shields of the corpse and the actual body itself took majority of the rounds. When they were equally depleted, Sayaek dropped the body, grabbed his rifle, and returned fire. The battle was swift. What the flames didn't consume, the Revenant did. Before long, ashes and blood smeared the ground.

Pitne sat shaking in the corner of the warehouse. His stubbing legs knocking together as his batarian assailant approached. This man just killed so many men, so quickly. Blood from the meat shield he had to use stained his grey armor and two-toned brown and red skin. Yet, he kept an unsettling calm despite the gore. Yes, he looked anger…but they all looked angry. He swallowed deeply before saying, "Who are you?"

"Sayaek In'dan, Batarian Judge, and you are in violation of a trade agreement."

Pinte stared from the small goggles of his suit. "What are you talking about trade agreements?"

"You thought Batarians were lawless," Sayaek finished. "These armaments and equipment are property of our government."

"Are you suggesting, that I'm thieving, from you…" Pitne For's breathing felt like it was shredding his lungs; making even the normal huff sound normal in comparison.

"I'm not suggesting. I know. There have been several crates of missing merchandise in this section for years. We have tried to turn a blind eye to it, but the businessmen of our higher society are starting to get irritated by the unseeingly amount of disrespect. I was dispatched to look into the investigation. Let's say, I don't leave my home system."

"What if I told you that I wasn't acting alone?"

Sayaek tilted his head to the right. It was disgusting how quickly people will just give up information if their life was threatened…or if they can use it as some bargaining chip. "What information do you have? I'm not going all over galaxy for no apparent reason."

"It was. One of your. People." The breaks in For's voice was getting much shorter as nerves swelled up. "He was making the deal. He was getting profits from the Red Sand and the weapons."

"All four of Sayaek's eyes squinted in anger. He had a good idea who was involved in this nonsense. "Let me guess. It was a higher man with a crazy look in all four of his eyes. Looked important, always growling about humans taking up our space in the Verge."

"Generally…" the volus paused. "Yes."

"Balak…" Sayaek said to himself, followed by a stream of curse in his language. "You are coming with me. You are involved in this nonsense as much as he is."

"But I just helped you!"

The best thing with having four eyes is that they made the intensity of rolling one's eyes a lot better. "I never agreed to that. You gave the information on your own free will. Besides, I'm not corrupted like most people that you have met in your pathetic criminal life. Now let's go before I decide to rip your small head from your shoulders."

With nothing more to say, the conversation was over. Sayaek grabbed the rounded man and slung him over his shoulder. He had a call to make. "This is exactly why we can't get along with other races now," he grumbled ignoring the constant wailing of his prisoner.

* * *

**Codex **

**Batarian Judges **

Judges are a full combat specialist of born of a higher caste in the batarian society. Usually they are born of prophets and priest, thus connected with the Pillars of Strength on a deeper level. This is unlike the Justicar's Code, however, since the Pillars of Strength are teachings rather than specific rules. Many judges interpret them in many ways, thus giving a large amount of flexibility on the written laws.

They are responsible for several different duties within the jurisdiction of their colonies and their home planet. Once every galaxy week, they hold a hearing to iron out larger problems on Khar'shan. However, unlike the judicial system on Earth, Judges can leave to gather their own evidence on their specific cases. If one should do this, they are responsible for sharing any and all information to the rest of their order.

In battle, they serve to be a mixture of covert operations and weapon-master. Lightly armored, they are meant for long battles on their own—instead favors sneak attacks and powerful burst of aggression to win battles quickly. Many prefers the usage of assault rifles and heavy pistols but aren't limited to just those specific weapons. The key to their battle however lies in the use of their specially crafted "ballistic blades"; allowing to kill with the swiftness of a shotgun without the ammo or the added weight.


	2. Episode 2: Cypher, Forge

** Episode 2: Cypher: Forge**

_Mobile Unit 82_

_ Primary Functions: Online _

_ Secondary Functions: Repairing…_

_ Shields: Online _

_ Location: Unknown….Calculating… _

_ Safety: Unknown_

Unit 82 had reached a conclusion; it had no clue what was going on.

The memory of its venture to Earth had been rather hazy, like most of its core banks had been stripped away. What were left were hazy images of a demolished city, covered in a whirl of black clouds and smoldering ashes. It had taken a beating, caught by a swarm of cannibal and husk—but brought offline but a single swipe of the hulking monstrosities known as a brute. In every sense of the word, this unit should be dead.

Dead.

The word sounded hollow, incomplete. Geth do not die, their memories lived on. But if the Initiator and the Creators were right: every unit had a soul. Then maybe the idea of death was more frightening than 82 had originally_ thought. _This was only one fragment of the upgraded AI. The newly gained intelligence had so many variables—too many errors. Even networked, many individual units felt lost—confused. This unit was no different. It hardly helped that it had no data on its current situation.

"Looks like you are up..."

82 slowly brought its body upright. It was in a dark room. A dull, burnt out and exposed light bulb hung over its head. It was lying on a chipped and scratched wooden table with several different tools to its side. Other than that, the room held nothing…as to keep the geth guessing if it ever woke up. It was doing a sufficient job.

"I…" the geth started. "I" was such a personal word, it was no wonder the hanar chose not to use it so often. "Where is this unit?"

A warm laugh sung through the room. It was obviously male, strong but barely a whisper in his throat. "I can see that you aren't used to being so…personal. AI is highly adaptable, correct? Feel free to speak to me if I was a friend, considering I put a lot of credits and time into repairing you. "

"You have repaired me?"

"As much as I could," the man admitted. "I've dabbled in tech in my past, but geth was something never had the…" he gathered his words, "pleasure to work on. I'm glad that I'm as bad as I think. Of course, I had to ask for help from time to time."

The man stood up, giving away his location in the corner off the room. He stood just outside of the small field of light, giving only a silhouette of his body. It was a human, tall with wide shoulders and wearing tattered civilian clothes. His bare feet made a dull sound on the ground as he paced back and forth. From the looks of it, he was bandaged up pretty badly.

The rest his features were covered in the shroud of the dimly lit area. It would have been easy to see him if all of 82's functions were back online. Geth's hunter vision was perfect, even in the dark. But, this man purposely left those functions down. But not for long, they were well on their way to auto-repair now.

"I know what you are thinking," the man interrupted. "You have to promise me something."

"Promise," the geth repeated. "It may be a foreign concept to us…"After this, the geth looked down. That was meant to be a little sarcastic. It was usually something humans enjoyed.

Much to its relief, the human laughed. "I'm going to like you. On to the point, you see…." The man paused for a moment. "Forgive me; I don't have anything to call you."

"Geth do not have names. And from our current discussion, you seem not to have one either." Geth could usually find something on their network about most people. Finding and I-Ding almost anyone could be done easily; effortlessly even. Yet there was nothing on his man. Not even a name to identify with. So, thought it may have been another joke, it was entirely true. This man had no name.

"Just because I refuse to tell you mine doesn't mean that I don't have one," the man cleverly rebuked. "But for the sake of discussion, you may call me the Blacksmith."

"As reference to your technological prowess or aptitude to create or use weaponries," 82 asked.

"Both."

Blacksmith circled around the area; his eyes locked to the geth on the table. A long pause in crept its way into their conversation. Even without seeing him entirely, 82 knew that he was smiling. "I'm going to call you, Cypher—C.y.p.h.e.r—if that is alright."

"Mysterious, word for breaking decryptions, it is acceptable. You may use it."

"Alright, Cypher," Blacksmith said, nodding. "Our agreement is this. You tell no one—not even your network—about me. This is repayment for my repair job."

"That is a very priceless offer for a life."

"I didn't say I was done yet." Blacksmith waved his finger. "You may know humans are rather savvy when it comes to business."

"Noted, humans are deceitful."

"Words to live by," Blacksmith joked. "But let's get to down to our business. I'm injured as you may have noticed," he tapped on his chest. "It has forced me to this….confinement. I would call it home—"

"But home is recognized patterns..."

Blacksmith crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "I suppose it is." He shifted his body from side to side, as to soak in the words in the back of his mind. He took a deep breath to continue his previous thought. "I want you to become my assistant. I'm looking for some answers. I would gladly search myself, but I can't." He looked at the state of his body with an utter sadness. "I need you to be my hand. But…let it be known. You can walk away at any time. Geth has been given too much of a freedom to be confined to slavery."

"You understand."

Cypher hopped off the table to walk towards the tall man. It stood heads shorter than the man, but looked him in the eyes. "You understand something that we as a race cannot truly understand yet. Would you teach me if I helped?"

"I will try." He gave a smirk underneath his wildly grown blonde beard. "But don't let the organic races fool you, we don't understand it completely either."

* * *

After a few more repairs and an agonizingly long paint job, Cypher was ready. Blacksmith had refitted it with a modified Omnitool, but he refused to tell how he had procured it. Of course, that wasn't the only thing Blacksmith effortlessly obtained. He had a slew of weapons to choose from; walls filled with several different weapons, amps and attachments. He called himself weapon hobbyist; Cypher called him a liar.

"How do you like the Widow and the Plasma Shotgun? The former is one of my personal favorites, despite my horrible sniping."

"It's a dependable model. With repetition, it should be easy to use."

"Are you mocking me?" Blacksmith responded with a jovial laugh in his throat.

"Only if you wish that to be the case, Blacksmith," Cypher mocked. To be honest, social interactions with organics were slowly becoming one of its favorite pastimes.

"So, I want you to look into something for me. There is a specific man here. This man owes me something…something I believe is rather important to my cause. You see. This man is informed on something that I cannot quite remember…"

"Then how do you know he knows something?" The honest inquiry was left with a silence from the enigmatic technician. "Did I offend?"

"No. All you need to be informed is that I have a unique amount of sources that has told me…" Black smith paused, leaving the buzz of whatever he was working on singing through the audio. "For now, you will have to go on trust."

"Even when there is no honesty."

"Especially when there is no honesty…" Cypher knew the man was smiling. "Enjoy your stay in Elysium. Call me again when you find him….or you can just walk away and never contact me again. That is your choice. Signing off."

With a simple beep, the omnitool flashed off leaving Cypher in a similar state.

Geth didn't mistrust; they viewed things as logical or illogical. It was very illogical to trust Blacksmith. Despite the debt that needed to be repaid and the lack of a leash, he ensued somewhat a control in his speech. Humans would call his words hypnotizing. As a synthetic, Cypher could only compare the concept to reprogramming; losing all similar programming that the unit had become accustomed to. Speech like that was a weapon, and he obviously knew how to wield it. With that unsettling feeling swarming through its body, it began following the coordinates to Viktor Kalan, former Alliance soldier.

From the information Blacksmith provided, Viktor was an honest man before the war on the Reapers ended. He was a talented biotic, once trained under the rather famous Spectre, Kaidan Alenko. After war, he had hit some low times—mainly because he and a few others disappeared after the Reapers and Citadel was destroyed. Many assumed that they were just cowards. Others assumed they tripped over something that they shouldn't have. It was Cypher's job to find out which.

Cypher made his way through the crowded streets of Elysium. The hub of the galaxy for the past several years has been in constant debate since the Citadel had been destroyed. Where once everyone could meet was suddenly stripped away and the council couldn't truly meet a conclusion on if to build a new Citadel or something entirely different. A few wanted to move on from the days of the Citadel and just focus on larger colonies such as this. It was probably the logical solution; though it harbored a great symbol, it was equally a horrible memory. For now, people seemed content moving from one part of the galaxy to the next.

It probably wouldn't last long. Organics liked order. Synthetics lived in order. Something would have to happen with the new alliance between the two. It wouldn't be long before people realize that something so widespread was not going to work.

The current situation had left two things: a large amount of freedom and an equally large amount of crime. This was why Viktor was here. He probably caught wind of some sort deal. His type always found a way to get caught, especially when they think no one is watching.

The omnitool coordinates had lead Cypher to a small bar on the edge of the colony. It was no bigger than two medium sized rooms of a house, making it a rather perfect place for close quarter interactions—or confrontations. Cypher approached the door, allowing sliding open with a sluggish clink.

_Expanse _held only three customers: a turian, a human, and a krogan. The bartender was vorcha. If Cypher had an eyebrow, it would have raised it in a curious observation on why a vorcha would even bartend, but it wasn't in its interest to ask. They were probably just as curious on why a geth would come to a bar. So ultimately, they were on equal footing. The vorcha hardly looked from vigorously shining a glass to speak on its obvious apprehension.

Cypher approached the growling creature, headlight shining the contours of his face. "Bartender Haarks—"The geth network was impeccable at finding names swiftly. Garn brought his red eyes up sharply, followed by a snarl.

"What do machine want? Garn busy," Garn hissed as he slammed the glass on the metal counter, almost shattering it. The skinny vorcha scowled—which wasn't that much different from his normal facial expression. Cypher calculated that it was just a reflex.

"Human male named Viktor Kalan."

"Only one human in bar. Right there. Leave Garn alone! Talk to human."

The vorcha, with obvious pleasure, pointed to the man sitting in the corner of the room. The beaten and dark bar left very little room for pleasure. Yet, Viktor sat reclined in his chair—boots on the table, glaring at his datapad with a smirk on his face. He looked up with dark eyes briefly as Cypher advanced. The smirk evolved into a complete yellow toothed smile.  
"What would a…." Viktor looked incredulously towards Cypher, "a thing like you want with me."

Cypher helped itself to a chair across from Viktor. A normal person would have found Viktor's statement—along with the obvious crude nature of having his feet on the table—as a gesture of rudeness. But, Cypher didn't. It found it amusing, fairly so because the biotic seemed so thunderstruck by the calmness. Geth were always two things, calm and busy; before and after the increased intelligence and freewill.

"I won't take much of your time, former Major Viktor Kalan. I'm here for some information."

"What does…your kind want with me," he responded, spitting the words out like the tobacco he was chewing.

With a significant pause, Cypher said: "Nothing. Personally."

Before the Initiator gave them intelligence, they could not like or dislike. Now, that ability was evident. Cypher disliked this man. Hate was too strong, too illogical. But this man appeared to be nothing more than red-sand and bad choices. Viktor had a grudge against machines; throwing Geth, Unshackled AI, and the Old Gods all in the same boat. Geth had probably wronged him in his past. To be honest, he was right on many levels; but organics cannot say mistakes weren't made on their end as well.

"Then why are you here, "Viktor scrunched noses, wiping the shaggy and dark red hair from his face.

"Event 6-40-6."

Viktor went pale at the mentioning one of the last events of the Reaper war. Very few knew anything about 6-40-6: all that it killed men and made heroes. Most viewed it as an act of heroism as the Citadel's arms opened, and the Crucible fired. No one knew what happened; all they saw is the Citadel crashing into the atmosphere as a ball of fire. The crew of the _Condor_ was the first to arrive. However, none of them could speak on the situation. No one was sure what they found.

"How do you know about that?" His voice was a growl now, as his feet slammed on the ground as he maneuvered from his reclining state.

"A man told me."

"What was his name, geth? Or I'll riddle your empty shell to nothing more than wires and scrap metal!" Viktor stared across the table, eyes caught in a bloodlust. "Robinson, Walker, Morris, Campbell…who was it?"

"Much like geth, he has no name."

The man bit his bottom lip as he continued to stare from deep ridges of brow. "Since you won't tell me…" Viktor stood up. "Then I'm going to have to destroy you and remove anything in that little tin can that will tell me."

Cypher looked over its shoulder to see that the turian and the krogan was standing now. They were armed; the krogan with a shotgun, the turian with a heavy pistol. Cypher stood as they emerged from their corner, staring at it with grins on their faces. It was obvious, they were his paid guns. It was also fairly obvious that they were underestimating. It all boiled down to one thing—adaptability.

With a single swing of its body, it turned, whipped its sniper from its back and sent a bullet clean through the krogan's skull. Before the turian could react to the death of his companion, a mine was shot at his feet, exploding him instantly with his lack of kinetic barriers and the range of the blast. At last, Cypher turned back around before slammed the butt of his gun to the temple of Viktor before he could finish any biotic attack he could think of on such a short notices.

Viktor held his head, trying to the stem the ooze of blood. The attacks were fast. It was like fighting a stroke of lighting or a breeze of air. "Damn geth…"

"I fail to comprehend the point of that." Cypher placed his sniper rifle down, and pointed its Geth Plasma at the man's jaw. "All you had to do ask." Even with the robotic voice, the friendly nature was there.

Bringing up his Omnitool with a simple click, a screen popped up revealing Blacksmith sitting in his basement. He was fiddling with yet another tech device while sitting in an old wooden chair. The lighting was bad; shadows as the ceiling bulb swung back and forth. The only thing clearly visible was his hazel-orange eyes. There was a long pause as Blacksmith observed his surroundings. "Cypher…"

"Yes."

"That was a fantastic job. I didn't expect you to actually find him. I was halfway convinced the logical thing was just to disconnect from my existence."

"But you knew that I wouldn't," Cypher responded.

"Perhaps," Blacksmith whispered in an aloof tone.

Blacksmith turned his attention to Viktor. The bloodied man was still holding his head, blood seeping through his fingers. "Sorry for being so roundabout way of meeting, Mr. Kalan. My current condition makes it somewhat difficult to work." He relaxed in his chair, picking up a bottle of whiskey. "I am Blacksmith, and you may want to help me for your own best interest."

* * *

**Codex**

**Event 6-40-6**

Event 6-40-6 is the file name attached to the last moments of the Reaper War. Very few in the galactic space know what happened. Thusly, the event has been interpreted many different ways; which no clear evidence towards any one theory, only mere conjectures.

Scholars from all races have marked the beginning of Event 6-40-6 when the Crucible fire and it ends with the crashing of the Citadel moments after. The overall event lasted about thirty to forty-five minutes. This has baffled many due to the time it took to fire after the arms was properly opened, unleashing the catalyst's power through the rings and point of the fortress. With no debris salvageable, no one is quite sure how to study the effect.

All this known is that Commander Shepard managed to fire the device somehow, dying in the process. The crew of _Condor_, an Alliance Vessel, was the first on the scene of the crash site. What they found has been sealed or destroyed leaving room for doubt. Many of the crewmen of the _Condor _have gone into seclusion, driven to insanity, or died within the two years of the now Post-War Period.

* * *

**_Authors Notes_**

Hello everyone! Thanks for reading my second episode! I play Cypher exactly how he killed those hired guns: snipe, proximity, and hit in the head. Just didn't get to put it my random tactical cloak.

Also, any theories on my direction should be PMed me. Don't want to ruin other people's theories. :D

Anyway here come the thanks~

Got 1 reviewer and follower

The Rahkshi Writer: Thanks for your very inspiring review. It warmed my heart to get such a good and meaningful review. It inspired me to do this chapter, so thanks for that. Ironically, I just got Batarian Soldier last week (so, I didn't have him unlocked until after I wrote this chapter). I'm glad that the way I wrote him fit my play style and his personality! You don't get to see a lot of batarian awesomeness! Thanks again!


	3. Episode 3: N7: Daniel, Childhood

**Episode 3: N7-Daniel: Childhood **

It was that moment, akin to capturing a lightning bolt in a bottle or growing an oak tree in a flower pot. Those moments were never supposed to happen. Yet, there it was. A storm was in his bottle and a full grown giant had grown within its ceramic case and stayed intact. There he was; a living memory, a recollection that he was sure that was dead. It would have been much easier if he had forgotten. But, it was hard to forget the only person that you ever could call a father.

Daniel watched from the other side of the small park in the colony of Elysium. He was on shore leave. As a N7, he hardly had time to himself. Those timest were usually consumed by drinks and thoughts. Alone, the other members of his platoon would often joke. They would say that he didn't have emotions. Calculating was what they called him; never speaking outside his boundaries, and when he did, never speaking above anyone else like if thunder could whisper.

But, that wasn't true, was it?

It was all an act, wasn't it? Just to emulate the man that raised him. That man, who was now, just steps away.

To be honest, the situation as a whole was perplexing even to Daniel himself. Arkan, the only family that he remembered, was a turian. Looking at him from afar, he hadn't changed much. The carapace of his skin was still that bluish color; still rigid and broken like they have been broken so many times they weren't really sure what direction to grow. His green eyes were still distinct, forever wrapped in thoughts. Of course…he still wore the face paint, the purple stripes across his nose, around his eyes, and on the sides of his mandibles. Even now, in normal turian civilian clothes, he looked like the bravest man in the world.

Then why couldn't he say hello to the man that saved him?

Anger, confusion…sadness all swept through Daniel's chest in sweeping, radical motions. He was three when Arkan found him, raised him for fifteen years out of his own credits. He had sent him off to the Alliance on his 18th birthday. He was 29 now. They hadn't talked in those years. It was almost like he disappeared off the grid of the galaxy. Now he is here. He could show him what he had become, the N7 Destroyer of his platoon.

Yet, a nagging feeling stopped him.

Daniel buried his knees in his large chest as he sat on the wooden bench. Occasionally, he would wipe beads of sweat from his red hair. His own green eyes hadn't stopped gazing. The other turians on Arkan's ship would often joke saying that it was something they had in common. He remembered being so proud at the comparison; it made him feel wanted. No. It made him feel turian.

And that was the problem.

No matter what he did, he could never be a turian. Daniel grew up to be a broad shoulder man, grew to be taller than Arkan. He was wide and strong; not slender and fast. He soon felt out of place. He didn't feel quite like his race, but he could never be his father's. He was stuck in this limbo, forever doomed to stand on a line that he could never cross. _He would never be proud of me, because…I'm not his to be proud of_. The thought of rejection was paralyzing, suffocating even.

So, he decided not to say hello.

Instead, he just watched, hoping that he could convince himself to budge a finger. That hope carried on until the midday when Arkan got up and left in his own direction. He had missed his chance, and cursed every second of it.

Hunger was the only reason Daniel left his spot. His bones popped and muscles ached as he ascended from his bench. After a few stretches, home was about all he could think about—aside from the obvious. He lumbered sluggishly through the crowd leaving the park, mixing in. He tried to put an expression on his face to mask everything. None quite fit. So, he decided to keep it blank as his journal. Or he attempted. The act was easy when he was using this once imaginary role model. Now, it wasn't. Fighting a brute was much easier.

It felt as though he had been wearing his T5-V when he got to his apartment. He struggled to throw the keycard into the slot. His large fingers kept trembling. "I'm a big man," he told himself, finally speaking for the first time today. "I'm probably just hungry." At least that was what he told himself. The fact was he was pretty sure that the butterflies in his stomach would eat the food before he did.

The door flung open revealing a rather messy looking apartment. He had been here a week, and already he couldn't see half of the floor. Clothes piled on the floor in crumpled heaps; trash from various human, batarian, and hanar restaurants sat where he had thrown them. Any other shore leave, he would just take off his clothes and fell asleep anywhere. Battle was exhausting, and he needed to catch up on any sleep that he could. It was a rather meek existence in retrospect for a hell of a soldier. Any other day, he would have flopped down on the floor or the nearest sofa and dose off.

Not today.

Today, Daniel kicked his boots and socks off and stood almost like a statue in the doorway. It was a mess, a cataclysmic mess. He raised his eyebrow. "Cleaning first, food second…" Daniel muttered to himself. Maybe he had become dulled to the growing garbage mound masquerading as an apartment before. Now, he wasn't.

He grabbed the nearest stack of clothes in his gigantic arms and tossed them into the surprisingly empty plastic bins. He handled the trash in a similar fashion. Thoughts gathered in his mind as he did this tedious work. The more he pretended to push it to the back of his brain, the more it grew like a tumbling wave. Yes. It made the work go by a lot faster. But it hardly made him feel any better.

The entire process took less than a few minutes; about thirty given that he had to take the trash out to the compactor a few times At the end, it was worth it; looking far less like a horder lived there—livable even. He took a deep breath. "Dad would have killed me for living like that….." he paused, biting his lower lip.

"Damn it, Daniel!" he shouted to himself. He pushed tears out of his eyes. After years of entrails and blood on his armor, he couldn't even say hi to the person that raised him. For what, nerves? He once shredded through a Cerberus Atlas, shield and armor, alone! It was easy, to just point, shoot, and rip through the chunk of metal. But this, this constant stay of emotional unawareness. You couldn't shoot at it. You couldn't even try! He banged his head on the nearest wall.

"Damn…" His words were nothing more than a whisper this time quivering in his throat. Taking a deep breath, Daniel pushed himself away from the white wall, staring at it like it had committed some sort of sin. For the first time in years, he was crying. Underneath the iron skin and battle scars, he still felt like the little kid from the raided colony clinging to the ankle of an alien he knew nothing about.

Warm, bated, and frustrated breaths continued on for seconds before he could move again. In silence, he continued to his fridge and made himself several simple sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade to curb his stomach. He placed the food and drink on the small counter, pulling a chair up to eat his dinner.

He barely tasted any that he ate, consuming them in fluid motions and large bites. When he was finally full, he drained the entire pitcher dry, clearing his throat afterwards.

"_Now what_?" he thought, gathering the dishes and placing them in the sink.

His usual routine involved more sleep. It was no surprise that he wasn't sleepy right now. He could use the extranet or watch the infinite amount of channels. But, that would probably lead to more depression. What could he do to relieve some stress? He pondered for a while. His eyes instinctively searched for the chest in his room. A grin slipped across his face. There was one thing that made him feel better: that was shooting things to a bloody pulp.

With a bit of a hop off his chair, Daniel shuffled his way to the chest. Everyone teased him at the base for having an old chest with an old key to house his weapons. But, every person who tried to break into it failed in shame. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, pulling it out smoothly. A small clink singled that it was read to open, which he did with a push. No one besides him could touch his prized possession.

The N-7 Typhoon.

It took him quite a while to lift it out of its case—it did weigh like a small whale without his suit on. But he had to learn to pick it up in training; despite his CO's constant nagging that it wasn't possible. He dedicated himself to learn and wield it, so he did…after years of weight training. It was worth it all just to hear the churning of its chain and the constant spray of bullets. He patted the light machine-gun rifle. "Let's go for a walk, Charles."

* * *

The firing range was within walking distance of the apartment complex. The N-7 Typhoon, nicknamed Charles, sat strapped to Daniel's back as he trekked the fairly empty streets. The Vetus sun was taking its place on the horizon, setting ablaze the sky with flares of oranges and purples. The day was still warm however, leaving him somewhat thankful that he kept himself lighter. He would probably be even more thankful once he was finished riddling targets with bullets.

Daniel knew that he was entering "Long Range" with a fierce expression the moment everyone turned around. They were generally soldiers and mercenaries as well. But when someone enters that is almost as wide as a door with a rapid-fire gun on his back, you tend to stop what you are doing and prepare for the worse. Daniel put on a make-shift smile, trying to lighten the mood as best as possible. The other customers were not having it.

His mood slightly better, he continued to the front desk. A human man sat, looking up to the lieutenant with wide eyes before clearing his throat. "Can I help you sir?"

"You have any outdoor booths available," Daniel said, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah…a few." The fairly skinny man shifted in his seated, running his finger through his black hair nervously. "Have you…have you came here before?"

"Calm your nerves. And yes."

"Name please."

"Lt. Daniel Gregor of the Alliance Navy."

The front desk manager, obviously new here, brought up his omnitool to check the list of people. The more that he looked at the information, the paler he got. Daniel knew exactly where he went bone white, reading the N7 license. They probably got a lot of Alliance soldiers, never any who went through the program. If Edward Long, the owner of the establishment, saw him...he would have just smiled and let him through. The man had a keen eye that could pick out elites a mile away.

"You are all clear to go."

Daniel gave a half grin. "Thanks sir."

The swiftness of an eager falcon in his feet, Daniel shouldered his way through the small crowd to get to the outdoor target practice arena. Elysium had quite the bit of vegetation left, despite the constant foresting. The exterior firing range reflected that plant-life was still rather important to the races. Tall tree bordered the arena, probably meant to ward of the sound of gun fire. The sounds of native birds filled the wind, giving area a serene feeling. All of this coupled with the time of day made it seem like a very nice place to just sit back and relax.

Alas, Daniel was here to make a lot of noise.

The moment he set foot out of the building, he had unconscious unstrapped the gun off of his back. His mind settled in battle mode…or rather devastator mode. Everything already felt like a red haze. From the pack on his hip, he poured out a stream of thermal clips. He placed them in almost methodically, looking around in icy glances at the targets several meters away. When he met a satisfying click and hiss of the assault's full clip, he habitually aimed towards target. He preferred the actual targets over the holographic ones, they made a sound when they hit like bones or flesh even. A part of him hated that satisfaction, but it was part of being a soldier, a damn good one.

With one gaze that could only be explained as stone, he chose his target, released the safety, and fired.

The N7-Typhoon, or Charles, cranked out bullets slow at first almost like the sound of a turret. Yet, the longer he held down the trigger, the faster the light machine gun fired. Before long, rivers of bullets sung through the air, leaving empty rounds clattered at his feet. Admittedly, it was hard to control, especially when your mind wasn't completely focused. But that didn't matter right now. He hardly cared where he aimed, as long as it struck. Before long, the clip was empty—and it made sure Daniel knew that with a hiss of smoke on the side of his hand that stung his fingers.

He shook off the sting for a while.

"Well, that was very careless of you sir," a man said from behind. Daniel could barely hear him; his ears were ringing from the rattling of the previous clip.

Daniel didn't bother looking over his shoulder; he was too busy inserting more clips. "What was careless of me?"

"Well not putting safety equipment on first," the man remarked, voice preparing for a list. "Also, your stance is pretty off for such an inconsistent weapon."

Daniel stopped loading the clip as the voice got clearer in his ears. There was a flanging in his voice.  
"What will you know about inconsistent weapons…?" Daniel said, lowly. He wasn't quite sure how loud his own voice was.

"I know quite a bit to be honest." It was definitely a turian voice.

"What else am I doing wrong then?"

The turian made a small sound with the sides of his teeth before responding, "You seem to be distracted by something. Something…important."

Daniel nodded. "Well…you can say that I'm a bit distracted."

"Would you mind talking about it? You'll probably shoot like a damn champ afterwards, cause that…" the turian paused, probably to point at the target, "was not N7 material work."

Daniel glanced at the target. It was pretty badly torn from the bullets, but hardly any of them hit the small grey body like they should have. He laughed it off. If his CO was here, he would probably be dead right now. He placed his gun down and began to turn around. "Since you seem eager for conversation—"

His voice stopped as soon as his turned around completely. The old turian stood with his back against the wall of the building, protective gear from the front desk in his hands. A smile graced the mouth of the man as raised his eyebrow (or that is what Daniel would have called it). The silence between them cancelled noise better than any trees. The turian gave a small laugh as he took some steps forward and handed Daniel the earmuffs, goggles, and gloves.

"What did I tell you about firing any weapon without protection, son? I swear you want to get an eye shot out one day."

"Dad…"

Arkan Terelus raised his head up in amazement. "You have gotten big, Daniel." That simple sentence made all the doubt goes away. Fear gone, Daniel gave him a hug, bristly carapace and all. There was never any room for doubt.

* * *

**Codex **

**Interspecies Adoption **

Interspecies adoption, once a foreign concept in years of the past, is actually much cleaner than most species would assume. The Bureaus of Interspecies Relations, established by an asari matriarch Elenera on Thessia, handles most of the cases involving adoption. The overall process takes a few months to be processed, in which a representative would inspect the living conditions and possibly harmful effects that raising a child on the specific planet may have. For example, raising a human child on Palaven is not advisable unless the home provides an enviro-suit or an established mass effect field.

After proper evaluation physically and mentally of all parties, they are put into the care of their adopted family. The Department provides additional support by providing needed food or provisions catered to that specific race at an additional cost. Most interspecies families learns to cook the food of the race that they are raising, due to the much cheaper options provided on extranet or the bureaus. The overall process could range from 500,000 to over 1,000,000 credits depending on the services provided.

Regular checkups are usually conducted to ensure anti-slavery and abuse laws are enforced. These are usually handled by a personal group of Asari Commandos roughly translated into English as "the Mothers". They are ready and willing to remove the child from the home and destroy anything and everything dealing with that parent. They are known for taking in children and caring for a slew of children themselves.

* * *

**Authors Notes: **

Over 100 views from last month and 200 views over both of the sites this fan fiction is on. I will thank each and every one of your personally if I could. Thanks for sticking with me and watching these countless stories unfold!

As for reviews, I will like to thank: AlanthePaladin for his PM review! I'm glad that you took the time to find a way to message me despite your computer not being exactly friendly towards ! Thank you man!

On to the next episode, keep them coming!

EDIT: I never noticed that I had 4 followers and 2 favorites! So, I will also like to thank:  
Dawnstars1247

TW6464  
PenandBoad


	4. Episode 4: Zaegan: Two Bullets in a Mag

**Episode 4: Zaegan: Two Bullets in a Mag**

_2186: Reaper War_

Twenty three years on the flotilla should have taught him how to handle awkward situation on a ship. The crowded spaces and people usually forced conversations to just spring up. But, here they were, a group for four sitting silently within a stuffed shuttle, heading to battle. Alas, it almost felt like he was alone in this rickety blue piece of junk pretending to be an aircraft. It was nerve-wrecking, especially when you want to talk but no one else seems that interested.

The quarian sat quietly amidst the soldiers. This ranked up pretty high on things that he DIDN'T want to do today. He shuffled in a seat for a while, being careful in his patched, white camouflage environmental suit (he had seen some battles and done some stupid things). More than ever he wanted to get out of here, but that wasn't going to happen. The least that anyone could do is talk. He sighed.

Zaegan slumped in his seat as he fiddled with his AT-12 Raider. It was odd. He wasn't afraid of the battle. He could handle anything from brutes, banshees, dragoons, and even those large machines with this baby. If he couldn't, he could tactical cloak away until help arrived. However, that said thought lead to an ordeal. He was afraid that no one here would have his back. The other three passengers seemed to be almost emotionless or detached. A man of companionship is what his father called him and right now, he wasn't feeling too welcome.

Peeking upward, Zaegan looked at his first passenger. He was a Krogan, a giant of one at that. His broad shoulders almost filled that entire side of the shuttle. The color of his skin was off green. The carapace on his forehead a darker hue of the color, chipped and mangled from his age. A long line of spikes lined his chin, jaw, and mouth like a messy full beard. A long scar travelled the entire length of his face, stopping at the corner of his chin; this had left a noticeable empty spot in his scales. To be honest, he looked tough as hell.

The krogan was smoking some sort of cigarette, dancing it from one side of his mouth to the other. Zaegan thought about for a moment to ask what it was. He soon bit his lip, happy that no one could see under his mask. He wasn't about to take a punch for asking a question. That look in the man's eye told him to not talk to him. No sir, he wasn't going to be stupid enough to deny him that request.

With one passenger deemed unsociable, he went to the next. This one was an asari, armored in lavender. She was beautiful, but what asari wasn't? However, she seemed to have this regality unseen in younger asari. Zaegan placed his shotgun to his side to reference his datapad. They didn't provide that much information, anything that the combatants were willing to share. The only thing Zaegan gathered about this woman was that she was a justicar….

She was a what?

Zaegan looked back up to what he knew was a matriarch. Her purple face, marked with eccentric lighter violet markings, settled down in a calm expression. She was reading some sort of book. Scary enough, her hands didn't even touch the cover. The justicar was levitating it with her biotics, even turning the page with precision. _Those pages looked ancient_, he thought. Any false move with your fingers would probably tear it. The quarian man shuddered. She could probably rip him apart with a look.

_Nope. Not worth the risk,_ he thought. Getting torn asunder by an asari's mind or being ripped apart by a krogan's claws was not on his agenda. The flotilla would probably laugh at his death if he didn't even make it to his second battle.

That left one more, the small human beside him. All ride, this young man seemed nervous. When he entered the shuttle, he waddled forward with his knees sort of knocking together. Zaegan knew standard Alliance armor when he saw it. What he was wearing was not it. There were some similarities, but it was obviously from some sort of organization. With far less subtlety as one would one would expect from an infiltrator, Zaegan examined a bit further. It was then that he caught it:

The Cerberus Logo.

Quickly, he tried to rationalize the situation. Here was a Cerberus. He was a quarian. No one liked Cerberus. Cerberus doesn't like aliens. Keelah, what is he doing on this ship!

Alright, alright, Zaegan told himself as he glanced over to the man. The Alliance, the Council, the flotilla, and god knows who else was in control of these operations weren't that dumb. There must be a reason why he was on this ship. Was he a hostage or something? No, that can't be it. He remembered vividly that he came on the shuttle on his own accord. So….he was a team mate. Again, he was glad no one could see his face under his mask. He was frowning like no tomorrow.

There had to be an answer to all this. Zaegan glanced down at the data pad. Rey Tasi was his name. Age: twenty-three, a year younger than himself adding his year on his pilgrim. He was biotic adept trained by Cerberus's Phoenix program. Well, that explained why he was equipped so lightly in comparison to the rest of the team (even the asari, who carried a nasty looking assault rifle). A year ago, he had defected from Cerberus and been working with other ex-members. So…he seemed pretty legit.

Unlike the others, he could exactly figure out what he looked like. There were no pictures of the man and his face was covered by a yellow visor. In an odd twist of irony as quarian, curiosity made him wonder what the Phoenix Adept looked like. As much as quarian knew from personal experience that Cerberus was dangerous, a part of him wanted to know this man's story. Besides, Rey had easily ascended to the most uncomfortable man in this shuttle.

So, it boiled down to these two things. Not talk with anyone, which was Zaegan's bane. Or talk with this human. It was either dying of boredom or risk hearing this potential racial superior human. Or…he could…hm.

Zaegan jabbed the man with his elbow causing Rey to jump in his seat a little.

"Didn't mean to scare ya," Zaegan whispered, being cordial. If the man was a jerk, he would probably show it now.

"It's good, dude…" Rey said in a similar tone.

"First mission?" Zaegan asked, crossing his arm. It was good to TALK with someone, even if it was with an Ex-Cerberus. Up until now, it felt like they were going to a business meeting.

Rey took a large gulp. "Yeah…"

"And assigned to a group of aliens to boot." Again, the quarian was testing the waters. Zaegan was far from the smartest tool in the shed. He once was sick for two months straight for taking his helmet off for a bet. But, he knew how to work with people.

"I..dunno man. I'm just nervous as all. I-I-I…" Rey gathered himself together for a moment. "I never have been around aliens for a long time…"

Zaegan laughed a bit. "Not the best first group, I suppose." A krogan battlemaster and an asari justicar was probably the last two things anyone wanted to see…especially a xenophobic human. Luckily, they didn't add a turian veteran or any other quarian to the mix.

"I know what yer thinkin'…" Rey drawled. His voice was naturally lazy, like he was sleeping through all of his words; so, it was particularly hard to tell if that was intentional. "I'm a horrible person." He pointed to the Cerberus emblem. "I—I didn't mean…" he gulped again, this time a lot louder. "I didn't mean to join…."

Zaegan raised his eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I joined by accident..."

There was an odd moment of silence before Zaegan busted out in laughter. The krogan and the asari both exchanged smiles, obviously listening in on the conversation, before chuckling themselves. Rey dug his face in his lap in embarrassment. "It's not funny, man. Not cool," he proclaimed. "I was dumb…well…I'm incredibly smart anyway but…urgh. I thought they were some sort of group that helped people. Then I found out they wanted only humans to do stuff…and I stayed because I thought humans were cool…and then it got out of hand…"

"You stayed because humans were cool…?" Zaegan asked, stifling his laughter.

"Yeah…don't you think quarians are cool? You're a quarian right…please tell me I'm not mixing up my races again, man."

Indeed, Rey was a hilarious spectacle. But he was right in a goofy sort of wisdom. Every race thought of them as something special. Just how special is usually where danger arises. "You are good man." Zaegan extended his hand. "Zaegan vas Ordus."

"Rey Tasi." He grabbed the three-pronged hand carefully, unsure how it was properly done. "I-I'm a bit new at this, man."

"It's a handshake, man." Damn it, Zaegan thought. His speech was contagious, and Zaegan hardly had a good quarian accent anymore thanks to his pilgrim to a human colony. Like the flotilla needed any more ammunition to joke him. He shook his hand.

"You got my back out there."

"If you have mine…" Zaegan nodded.

"Of course."

Unbeknownst to either of them, both were smiling. They were each other's first friends in years.

* * *

_2186 CE_

_Ontarom, Firebase Dagger_

_9:00 Galactic Standard Time_

"Get the last device, Zaegan!" Rypht, the krogan battlemaster, howled.

"What? You expect me go out there in the sandstorm. I'm not even that great with technology to work the data center!"

"You are a quarian!' Rypht retorted, firing his M-300 Claymore. "Aren't you supposed to be good with technological shit?"

Zaegan growled, but low enough for the large reptile not to hear. "Not really."

"Someone has to do it and only one of us has a tactical cloak," Athenes said, her voice soothing even over the crackling radio ambience. Well despite the fact she sounded utterly and cruelly sarcastic. "Rypht and I will handle the upper corridor and the base…" The sound of gunfire interrupted her; this was quickly redefied with sound of biotic and a single bullet. "Forgive me; make a Cerberus Phantom's head explode. Get down stairs. Besides, Rey would probably need your help more than we do."

"Is that a fancy way of telling me that I'm not—"

"Get down there!" Rypht roared.

"Alright, alright!"

Zaegan rolled out of his cover, heading down from the Array Control through the West Approach. The conditions were horrible, and their enemy was savvy. A sandstorm had whipped out only an hour after they landed. Visibility was low for both sides; however, many of the Cerberus enemies handle the conditions much better than the four of them. More than enough times, they had to hunker down in the Array Tower and let the foes come to him.

But, the Alliance HAD to have these weapon triggers activated!

Grumbling bitterly at the thought, Zaegan rushed down the approach as much speed that he could handle. It was muggy, warm, and humid; quite possible the three things that environmental suits hated the most. "Go get the device he said. Let the quarian do it, he has the knowhow. Anyone with an omnitool can handle it." A bullet bounced off his kinetic shields, interrupting his rant and forcing him to dodge behind cover.

"Damn it where are you?" He scanned the surroundings by popping his head up. A red laser appeared on his forehead that exact instant. "Woah!" A sniper shot was fired, forcing him to quickly huddle behind the concrete of the rail before his head came off. "That bastard…" Zaegan gave a devilish grin. "I'll show her."

With a single tap of his omnitool, the tactical cloak covered his body. Even he was unsure how this technological omnitool magic worked, but it did. It allowed for certain thing, one particular that he was fond of: shotgun.

The cloak wasn't long, but it was incredibly effective in getting close. From memory, Zaegan dashed forward from the trajectory of the laser. Before long, he was met with a patrol of four troopers and Nemesis. Best of all, none of them knew that he was here. Four shots, one reload.

The first two shots were clean. The AT-12 shot in a spread; hitting the first three targets almost all in the head. Blood splattered everywhere, far too fast to even feel pain. The reminding trooper and the sniper wheeled around a bit too late. Zaegan had disappeared again into a blur amongst the shift sands…and reloaded.

BANG! The last trooper fell down, receiving all of the pellets of the gun to the chest. The Nemesis pointed her sniper at her assailant. Zaegan acted fast by hitting her with the butt of his gun and follow up with an incendiary strike from his Omnitool. Shields down, lights out. With his last remaining shell in his round, he fired. It was much quieter than the last one, like a scene from an old human western movie. "And they said that watchin' human movies don't help."

"Are you done with the device yet, Zaegan!"

"Rypht, keep your scales on!" Frankly, he wouldn't have said that if the centuries old krogan was near him.

Zaegan scoped his surrounds again. There it was, sitting on the top of a crate near a pipe. He pondered for a moment. He went this way before hours ago and he didn't notice it. Oh well, he mused as he rushed towards the device.

Kneeling before it he brought up the omnitool. Despite it being relatively simple, he needed both hands to complete it. The device was busted. It would need repairs. Off the battlefield this wouldn't be a problem. But, where bullets held lives, seconds is years. This would take time and they might not have it…

"I'm almost done...about halfway and countin—"A shot hit him in the shoulder, dropping down his shields. Bosh'tet, a phantom and some centurions. Normally, he could handle them. Those cartwheeling bastards held nothing with a scan and a shotgun to the face. But in this position, he was helpless. He could stop the upload, but risk the entire mission being compromised. Even if he did, he didn't reload after his last fight to handle them before the blade wielder got close. He had made a mistake…and mostly likely he was going to pay for it.

Zaegan took a deep breath. As long as he finished the upload, at least everyone else would be able to get home safely.

"Not cool."

It happened fast. One minute, the phantom was standing…closing in the gap with her gleaming white blade. Next, she was on the ground…jerked suddenly like gravity has shifted all to her side. Almost seconds after that, two long whips hurled themselves through air slamming into the woman's body. If that wasn't enough, there was an _explosion!_ The moment the whips hit the woman's back, a blue blast sung into the air killing everyone around it with. All that was left was Cerberus corpses…and whatever that pummeled piece of meat could be called of the phantom.

Ding.

"Of course, now it finishes!" Zaegan cried out, kicking at the device.

Zaegan turned around while reloading his gun. In a bit of a shock, he pointed his gun at the man behind him before realizing it was Rey. He seemed not to notice though; just staring aimlessly at the communication array.

"Thanks for the save…"

"No prob," Rey just nodded pressing his gun on his shoulders. "Hm…"

"What…"

"Nothing," Rey said, cocking his head. "But…don't get mad at me for sayin' something, but….I think Rypht and Athenes cleared the Array Room minutes ago."

"THOSE BASTARDS! "

They did that on purpose. They knew that they could easily finish the up there. Really. They were krogan vanguard and an asari justicar with combined total of a little under two millennia of battle experience. It would take more than an Atlas and a few foot troopers to even dent them. They were probably looking out the viewport, smiling like crazed lunatics do.

"I guess they believe my word," Rey tilted his head again.

Zaegan frowned. "What word?"

"That'll keep ya safe, dude."

"He he he , you did."

"Just doing my job, man. Hey…for saving your life…would you show me what you look like under you helm." Rey smiled. He, like all humans, wanted to know what a quarian looked like.

Yeah. Zaegan wasn't going to make that mistake again. No coma this time. But, maybe, just maybe he will show him. "How about you won't show me what you look like under your helm until I show you mine."

"I'm gonna keep you to that!"

* * *

_2188 CE _

_Earth: Two Years after the Reaper _

Two years had passed since they had first met. Since then, they had become friends. Probably closer than they first thought that was even possible. Throughout the entire Reaper War, they remained in the same platoon. They kept each other's back with Arc Grenades, Singularities, Tactical Scans, and Smashes just to give a few. But this was the day that Zaegan was going to keep his promise. It was probably a lot sooner than he would have expected though, thanks to the geth.

But he did promise and he was going to keep that said promise.

Zaegan traveled several galaxies to the small Sol system to the even smaller planet of Earth. Rey lived in large city by the name of something with a "C". Charlotte. Canton. Charleston. CHICAGO! That was what it was called! He was headed there now regardless of what the city was named. There weren't a lot of aliens that was present on Earth—sort of considered a bit of a taboo. Yet, the war made friends and friends visits friends.

Rey had thought to come to Rannoch. Zaegan told him no. He wanted him to be comfortable. He was still really nervous around large crowds of aliens, a habit, he supposed. But he had made progress, even visiting smaller colonies of different races to sort of build up his tolerance. He even chose to become a gun for hire to protect those colonies from raiders. But as an act of friendship, it was best to meet him on his turf.

After several weeks of testing the atmosphere and taking herbs just in case, but here he was.

He stepped out of the taxi smoothly. It was odd not being completely in his environmental suit; only some native hood, robes, and some added devices on his wrist to ensure his health. But, it felt nice. The city was a bit windy and cool, but he couldn't complain. Rannoch was arid, dry. Earth was all sorts of weather. Maybe he'll stay for longer than he first thought. He brought his enviro-suit, just in case.

Zaegan walked a couple of blocks while reading the coordinates. He stopped at a small home wedged in the in between two larger buildings. He shook his head. His home was the same way on Rannoch: small, cozy, and probably mildly under-furnished. They were like brother; just couldn't eat the same food. It was going to be good to see him face to face what will feel like the first time.

With a few raps of his knuckles on the wood door, a voice answered: "I'll be there in a second, man!"

Patiently, Zaegan waited even enduring some curious looks from passersby. If he had gone without his hood, he would have probably drawn a crowd as though he could perform miracles. "Don't have me waiting here all day, Rey."

"You aren't going to rush me either!"

"Hell if I can't," Zaegan shouted back.

"Just woke up from my nap…. you know I need fourteen hours of sleep."

"And you _wonder_ where your days go!"

The door swung open revealing a gaunt, darker-skinned man. Long black hair tumbled down his back, a thick beard lining his chin. He stared with dark brown eyes before stuffing his hands within the pockets of his blue pajamas. This went on for a several minutes as they observed each other. "Wow. We aren't that much different, are we?"

Zaegan took off his hood. No. They weren't. Of course, he of a lighter tone, shaved hair, and a long mottled brown beard. The only real differences were he had small horns protruding from his forehead and silvery blue eyes. Other than that, nothing was really that much different. He stuffed his hands in his pocket too.

After a few more minutes of marveling, Rey asked, "Worth the wait?"

"A little. More curiosity sated."

"Yeah, me to. What are those things, anyway?" Rey poked at the small horns, only to be slapped away.

"Stop that! Now, are you going to let me in or what?"

"Yeah yeah…."

"Maybe you can tell me how you accidentally joined that terrorist organization." Zaegan grinned.

"Man…not cool...but I'll tell ya. Get in here."

Rey moved aside to let his friend in, only pulled into a one armed hug. At first, he was surprised. Normally he had been the one that would cause these bro-hugs. He patted him on the back.

"I missed ya, buddy."

"You too, bud. You're my first alien…no." Rey patted him on the back. "My first real friend and I'll never forget that."

"What can I say?" Zaegan let go of the hug to tap the shotgun on his back. "We are like two bullets in a mag."

* * *

**Codex **

Immune System Stimulation Therapy

Two years after the Reaper War and the reincorporation of the geth into quarian society in 2186, quarians has entered their final stage of Immune System Stimulation Therapy. By linking their network through the ports within an environmental suit of a quarian, the geth can simulate several different types of bacteria, virus, and other harmful pollutes of the body. Many geth have traveled to different worlds to experience several different sicknesses that a quarian should face at any given time. These test simulations are done in small doses at first then are steadily increased as their body becomes naturally used to the world around them.

The beginning stages of the treatment caused large amount of illnesses at first, which concerned several members of the Admiral Board. The test group seemingly fell into various types of shocks and comas, leading to once again, distrust amongst the geth. This was later changed when this said group awoke feeling over 45% healthier and could withstand the atmosphere of Rannoch for at least 1-2 hours at a time.

Currently, over 80% of the quarian population can deal without the aid of the environmental suits for at least a day. Some, especially members of the first group, can even live without it. As a safety precaution, however, many quarians still use the "Migrant Flow System" or the "MFS" Omnitool mod to steadily help with combating new environments via the same technology available by geth.

* * *

October 29, 2012 Edit: Thanks again for all the new updates! 100+ views on this chapter alone. I will like to thank Ancolie and The Rahkshi Writer for their fantastic reviews; you guys really inspired this chapter.

I will like to thank all my favs and watchers:  
AlanthePaladin (HIYA NEW XBOX BUDDY!)  
Ancolie

DawnStar1247

TW6464

PenandBoad

Asarimaster (YOU ARE NEW! WELCOME TO THE PARTY! :D HOPE THAT YOU ENJOYED!)

Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews and views as of late. *bows* Keep safe and Keelah Se'lai, my friends.


	5. Episode 5: Special: Deep Sea Tea Party

**Special: Episode 5: Deep Sea Tea Party**

"As beautiful as ever, Doctor."

"Why thank you," Liara said, bowing.

Dr. Liara T'soni was NOT used to making public appearances at lavish parties such as these. She would have much more enjoyed finishing her blasted research over sipping tea and wine with various aristocrats across the galaxy. She took in a deep breath. Yes, she would much rather deal with Javik's somewhat impudent attitude than this. But, she was here for information. Intoxication and an ostentatious atmosphere often loosened tongues better than any sort of espionage. Shadow broking was one job that kept her busy around the clock, even more than her actual occupation.

She took the hand of her bodyguard with care. The muscular, shaven haired human bowed with a smile. Liara returned the smile with an elegant grace, keeping ahold of his smooth palm as she ducked out of her shuttle. Yes, she went everywhere with a bodyguard. Not just any old person, someone adept enough to protect her if something would to arise. Of course, she could easily pummel them into oblivion with a Singularity or tear them apart with a Warp. That was usually more trouble than it is worth…especially when she was in a dress that cost way too many credits.

Liara smoothed the lengths of the said lavender dress with her free hand as she stood completely outside. "Feel free to leave," she told the shuttle driver. With that, the shuttle flew off. Even now, a part of her wished that she too could just fly off this planet. Goddess, she hated these types of gatherings.

"Is there a problem?" her bodyguard chimed, forcing her to snap back into reality.

"Nothing." The bodyguard arched his eyebrow, pulling up his goggles to do so. "Just anxiety," she added.

The man gave a cool smile as he placed his cane on the thin glass-surface of the walkway. "Enjoy yourself while you are here. It will be a good retreat from your work while doing some work."

Liara laughed. This is why she liked this particular bodyguard. She never used his name, out at his request, but he preferred to call himself Blacksmith. He was good natured for the most part, yet held the tone of mystery well. But, he was dangerous. Once before, she had seen the man use cryo-tech to freeze specific limbs of mercenary, just to shoot them off individually until they were nothing more than a torn up doll. But, it was these types of people that the Shadow Broker was attracted to, she supposed.

"Are you sure that you are feeling well, Blacksmith?"

"As good as I could possibly feel at the moment. Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. I was more than sure that you would send your new associate to accompany me."

Blacksmith gave a warm smile. "And how would I look as an agent of the Shadow Broker if I did such a thing," he folded his arms, "Besides, Cypher is doing something else for me."

"Always thinking ahead, are we?" Liara smiled back.

"Always," the man lowered his gaze. "So, let's go get this over with. Torei doesn't _really_ like to wait."

Liara sighed. That was right. This party had a salarian host, probably worse kind. More than anything though, he was quite possibly the most pretentious former STG member that she had ever seen. Raran Torei was his name, a former infiltrator of the elite salarian squad and the master of procuring information—herself aside. He knew things, however refused to share them with almost anyone. Even her best spies found relatively nothing in terms of information the man knew. Though he spoke at the speed of light, like all members of his race, he was rather tight lipped on potential profitable situations.

Of course, as the Shadow Broker, she had taken the habit of getting such information herself. Besides if what he knew had anything to do with…_that_, she had to know.

Tastefully, the two continued down the glass-like walkway. Trees and various shrubberies lined the path, covering the manor with sweet smells and spices. Burngrass was amongst these, a weed native of Sur'kesh. Come to think about it, it was like Torei had brought a piece of his home land _with _him to Nasurn. The rushing water, the temperature regulation devices, the vegetation was all reminiscent of their homeland. The amount of credits used on this alone could probably repair thirty colonies or even one city on a home world affected by the Reaper War.

She pinched her nose. "Why could they not realize the importance of recovery efforts?"

"They have nothing to recover from."

Despite herself, she laughed. It was the harsh reality of it all. No matter what, people wished to just push the war underneath them. They had their hero. They had their peace. They did not need to think about it anymore.

Pushing that grim thought to the back of her mind, she continued down winding path. Before long, they approached a rather large building. It appeared to be a least eight floors made of various different tan metals and glasses. A mass effect field generator sat silently on each side of the large glass doorway, pulsing different types of energies for embellishment of the already grand structure. Salarians, turians, and asari stood at the entrance and walkway with the top of the line weaponry and communications. Torei did not spare any expense.

They approached the door where another turian, in more formal armor than the rest, stood. Before they had even walked up, he had begun the Omni-tool scan with one hand and checking the list with his eyes. "Liara T'soni?" he remarked in surprise. "Like _the _Liara T'soni, that helped Commander Shepard defeat the Reapers two years back?"

Liara, somewhat used to that dialogue, nodded.

"It's my pleasure madam. And I assume that this is _your…_"

"Bodyguard," she finished.

"Ah," The turian commander took in equanimity. The matching color of the man's bowtie and her dress had made him somewhat assume otherwise. "Well. Since you have clearance…" he stopped for a moment. "Sir," he turned his attention towards Blacksmith, furrowing his brow. "You aren't picking up on my Omni-tool it is like—"Suddenly, he stopped. It was cold and sudden pause, like the sentence itself had been cut completely from his tongue. "I—"the turian spat out. "Sorry, sir. You can come in as well."

"Thank you sir," Blacksmith said, giving a toothy grin.

Liara knew what had happened, but chose not to say anything. Not now.

"Sorry about that, Liara," Blacksmith nodded. "I'm not in specific databases. I've been meaning for you to fix that, but I suppose it slipped my mind."

"Somehow I believe that you did that on purpose to make this interesting."

"Perhaps." Blacksmith placed his Umbra-visor back on. "I just didn't want to keep our _humble_ host waiting over something such as a minor security detail." He bowed. "That aside, do you want me to introduce you?"

Liara folded her arms, staring at the man with her blue eyes. His expression didn't change; he just kept smiling, carrying on like nothing just happened. But something _did_ happen, something quite sinister of used incorrectly. She has seen very few asari with that ability, even then not nearly as potent as this human's ability. She sighed, it served it usefulness. The man had morals, powerful ones. Whatever that power was...she could only narrow it down as two things: biotic and alluring.

"Doctor T'soni…"Blacksmith sung, waving his hands. "Do you want me to introduce you?" he repeated.

"Yes, Blacksmith, yes."

Triumphantly, Blacksmith entered the manor, strutting confidently. Even standing outside of the door, she heard the party chatter stop as the man's voice boomed over the throng. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" he began. "I will like to introduce one of the heroines of the Reaper War who worked beside Commander Shepard in his dying effort and successful endeavor to save the universe. She is a talented asari doctor, one of the few in the few of Prothean research. Currently, she has been working on her research, which has yet to be named, with the only living Prothean, Javik to explore deeper into the minds and culture of the his people. Give a round of applause to the one and only, Doctor Liara T'soni of Thessia!"

Liara swept into the room casually as her name was called to be showered by what sounded like thousands of applauses. To be honest, she was a little embarrassed, reaching almost instantly for Blacksmith's hand upon entering. "You didn't have to make a big deal out of it," she whispered aside to him as they continued towards the crowd of people.

"Of course I did," Blacksmith whispered back. "You are everything I said….by the way…"

"Yes, Blacksmith."

"You really should get a name for that research."

The asari giggled lowly, even though it was harshly true.

For a couple of moments, her hand gently in Blacksmith's smooth palm, she soaked in the surroundings. It was lavish, the salarian pulling no expenses on taste. The entire room felt spotless white, made of stones and metals that looked at least 10,000 credits per block. The theme of the party was a deep sea blue form the current long carpet that they were walking on, to the drapes, to the decorations on the table. Torei had somehow managed a masculine taste to a classy dinner party feel. If Liara wasn't used to the decorative feel of her own people, she would have considered it overbearing.

Entertainment sat to their north. A band, surprisingly of various different races, played instruments of their homeland. Not too far from that was a dancing area, which was incredibly empty at the moment. On the east and west walls were the banquets. One side dedicated for dextro-based food, the other levo, and was properly labeled and served by members that could ingest the food without much difficulty.

On the way towards the main conversation area, Liara greeted several nobles briefly. She tried to avoid any and all light conversation and gossip from the aristocrats. To be honest, she didn't have the time to hear about a love affair some random asari matriarch had with a vorcha and a human at the same time (even though Blacksmith seemed to have a kick out of the prospect.)

After a few minutes pushing through the mindless banter, she and her escort arrived at the main sitting area, reserved only for high level or "important" guest. Two human men nodded in confirmation of Liara's presence, moving aside to allow entry to the host of the party, Mr. Torei.

The salarian sat amongst a group of nobles: three batarians, an asari, a turian, and much surprisingly a krogan. From the look of it, Torei was dominating the conversation. The rather bluish salarian waved his hands, continuing through waves of conversation endlessly. The asari and the krogan seemed rather distant from the conversation, just eyeing him as though he was mad. The batarians seemed feigned their interest a lot better than the previous two, and occasionally chimed into conversation. And lastly, the turian was the only one that could match the salarian in conversational interest.

"You have guests, Master Torei," one of the human sentries chimed in. He knew and everyone else knew that Torei would NOT stop talking if he wasn't interrupted.

With a quick jerk, Torei turned his head towards Liara and Blacksmith standing beside the bodyguards. His eyes somewhat lit up with the prospect. "Dr. T'soni! Guest! Why are you standing around for? Sit. Sit. Caleb, Tomas, radio the bartender at once to fix these two a drink. What do you like? Wine? Whisky? Scotch?"

"Say Ryncol," the krogan muttered.

"Don't be silly Rypht. Don't be silly. Asari. Human. No Ryncol." Torei waved off the obviously joke that being unconscious would be better than hearing this man ramble. "So what will you like?"

"Wine and Scotch," Blacksmith answered, winking at Liara.

Satisfied that they ordered something, Torei nodded. "It's truly a pleasure, Dr. T'soni. As much as a pleasure it is for you to meet me, I suppose."

One of the batarians, the oldest one, coughed. "A pleasure it is _indeed_ a pleasure to meet with you, Torei." It was followed by quite possibly the best eyeroll in the galaxy, only obtainable by the four-eyed aliens.

"Well it is a pleasure to meet with me, Prophet Eijin." Even Liara was surprised by the amount of pompousness on which he defended himself with. "Alas. Sit. Rypht if you don't mind."

The large green krogan, in surprisingly nice decorative cloth attire, moved over, allowing Liara and Blacksmith enough room on the C-shaped sofa. Once down, Torei continued on conversation. He introduced all the members of the circle in what felt like seconds. The three batarians: Prophet Eijin, Judge Sayaek, and Fist Inigo nodded their introduction. Justicar Athenes bowed upon hearing her name. Rear Admiral Xalin, Torei's closest friend, accepted his introduction in stride. And finally Battlemaster and Ambassador Rypht raised his glass of Ryncol to finish it off.

"So!" Torei chattered on, not taking a breather for a second. "What brings you here? I've heard that you have been busy, I didn't expect your company." Torei brought his three fingers to his chin. "Heard you weren't the partying type. True or not?"

Liara gave a sigh. "Yes, you've heard correctly."

"Yes, what did I tell you, Xalin? My intel is always correct!"

"Can't deny that ol' pal," Xalin said chuckling.

Through some colloquial magic, that simple statement evolved into a story. Even at mach-speed of the mouth, it took about fifteen minutes to tell. During which, Rypht and Blacksmith had occasional made snide comments underneath breathes. "Maybe I should have taken the Ryncol," the bodyguard said aside to Rypht, who had to try his hardest not to bust out in laughter.

"As much as we will like to hear _another _story Torei," Eijin interrupted before the salarian somehow linked the story to another one, "I think that it is best that Miss T'soni and her guest explain what brings them way out here. Am I right, sons?" Sayaek and Inigo nodded. "Maybe you'll hear stories that may surprise you for once, Torei."

Flabbergasted, Torei folded his arms. "Alright, my apologies. All other races seem slow in comparison. Talk at a minimal rate. Very boring. Very boring."

"I've dealt with salarians before, Torei. No offense taken," Liara said calmly. "But indeed I did come for something in particular that I would much rather speak about in private. For now, let's enjoy our company. Blacksmith, would you mind retelling a story that I have told you about Commander Shepard?" She smiled towards the shaven haired man, who grinned broadly.

"Of course…"

The constant chatter of stories back and forth dangled on into the rest of the night. This was much to Liara's plans however. Torei's high metabolism made it hard for him to loosen his tongue through alcohol, but it was happening due to some special imported drink that he had been consuming throughout the night. It wasn't long before the rest of the nobles in the circle became bored. It took some convincing to allow them to speak completely alone however, since Xalin seemingly distrusted Blacksmith and the Shadow Broker equally despited knowing relatively nothing about their lives in the dark.

Torei, satisfied at his own party, sat back in his chair sipping yet another glass of ale. "Alright," he began bringing the cup away from his face. "What did you really come here for? Formalities aside, you seemed to have something urgent for us to talk about."

Liara was smart. She needed to be careful about this. Yes, she did come here with an agenda. However, she couldn't be completely outright. It was like playing a game. Make too many steps forward, you could miss a move. Wait too long, you could lose one. Instead she will have to ease into the conversation undetected. "You seemed very interested in the Shepard stories. Blacksmith tells them much better than I do. I rather not think about them to be honest."

Torei grinned. "Indeed, I am rather interested in Commander Shepard." He sipped again. "I know quite about him. Very talented man for a human, sad that I could never meet him. "

"Then you must have a theory with…" Liara lowered her voice. "About the Event 6-40-6 incident."

There was a long pause it between. Blacksmith, being relatively silent after the story telling, wetted his mouth with his Batarian Scotch. "Everyone has a theory, Torei. I believe that you have a good idea of what happened with Shepard and the _Condor._"

Something in the salarian's mind seemed off, but he pushed it aside. "I know a little bit about it," he mentioned off-handedly. The large frog like-eyes squinted in amusement. Of course, the only time that he shut his mouth was something that necessarily didn't want to talk about. Liara took it calmly; however, Blacksmith expression had changed radically from when the party started.

"I have reasons to believe that you have conversed with several members of the Condor, procuring information on the potential happenings of the event." She put on a warm and sincere smile. "I was wondering if you could tell me what you know about the situation as a whole, all that you know."

Torei shook his head, crossing his arms and splashing the contents of his glass back and forth. He was amused. There were no other words that could express that feeling. It was obvious now. This man wasn't the type of person that wanted people to come to his parties to enjoy themselves; he wanted them there because they were a commodity, a trophy to his influence. Of course, when someone had what he had, he dangled it in their faces like fish caught on a lure.

"I have reasons to believe that you may know something about the Shadow Broker, Dr. T'soni. Curiously, you were after his—or her—existence for a while after your brief department from Commander Shepard's group. Then suddenly, your activity stopped," He laughed and pushed on, "That only means two things, Doctor. You found what you were looking for and survived. Or…" he leaned forward, licking his teeth. "Maybe it is something that you aren't telling us about…Doctor."

"I have no idea what you are insinuating, Mister Torei. I have particularly asked about your theory about the Event."

"You know exactly what I am talking about Sha—"

That was when the former STG agent felt it.

He stopped in the tracks of his speech, much like the turian captain at the door. Torei tried to speak, yet his mouth wouldn't move. He looked towards Blacksmith, who had hunger in his eyes but a smile on his lips. His throat contracted and a cold chill ran up his spine. It was water, contracting around his every thought, drowning him in his own mind. It happened so fast. He had heard stories of a tentacle monster in human mythology. This man was a kraken of the mind…allowing you to sail only to seize you under into the black abyss.

"Listen…Liara might be nice about this, but I don't have time for this." Blacksmith pulled his goggles off, ripping them from his head. His eyes glowed black, green, and purple like…

Like a Leviathan artifact.

Blacksmith's voice became smooth and vicious. "You have the key to a problem. A problem that _I_ can't remember. You know something…a piece of the puzzle as one would say."

Liara remained silent, breathless almost. Everything felt cold around them, even the room itself seemed to just slow. This man was using _Dominate_…no. It was something more. Asari Ardat-Yakshi was born with this gift, but this man…gained it and it was the worse intoxication of a mind, inconceivable by lesser thought. All she could do is watch now, watch as this man absorbs information like a sponge.

"Now tell me," Blacksmith lowered himself, being careful not to alert anyone that something was wrong. "Now take a breath for once, and use that mouth correctly for once…"

Torei, eyes glazed over, nodded.

"What do you know about the _Condor_? You know about the Event. Viktor told me…everything…that you know something. Now tell me," Blacksmith pressed his chin against his entwined knuckles. "What do you know…what do you know about _me_?"

"W—ho…"

"Who am I?" Blacksmith laughed. "I breached the darkness." Blacksmith stood up and grabbed the ale from the salarian's loose grip. He walked around the sofa, hand barely gripping the glass by the fingertips. "I am a fragment of all that remains…" The sounds of his boots tapped against the rugs of the floor, making a muffled sound as though a lion was prowling. "I am the remainder of what this galaxy called heroic."

* * *

**Audio Log: 89**

**Return from the "Tea Party"**

_Is this thing even on? _

_Yes it is on, Blacksmith. It is on. Maybe this would work better than you typing it out. _

_He he he. Liara, this is my audio log, remember? Go do whatever Shadow Brokers do for fun on the computer. _

_Are you suggesting that I am dabbling endlessly on countless screens doing nothing in particular? _

_You said that not me….. Oh, I've done it now. _

_Anyway, I'm one step closer to finding out what happened in the Citadel. For the life of me, I don't remember. Ever since I woke up—I remember…things. Faces and people, mostly. I know about them, but I feel like the person they are talking to isn't truly me. I…don't like them calling me him necessarily. The only thing that really seems real from that life is Liara. Everything else feels like a dream he he…a memory. _

_But that's not what we are here for. I used it again today. Dominate. Hm. That sounds a bit to__o__ cliché. Beside it reminds me "a dark place in my soul". Why couldn't I have lost that memory instead? Anyway, focus. I've been calling it Salvage. It's strong…potent…Liara calls it almost like indoctrination of the mind. I can't always control it. I'm getting better, but right now I have a killer headache. Alas, it is has served its purpose for today. _

_Torei told me something in his hypnotic state. Told me that the "Trumpets had died down, the child went thirsty, and the night praised the graveyard." To me, that meant not a damn thing. But, now I sit down and realize it. It sounds…familiar. Like I know what happened…but I don't. _

_You know what, forget it. It'll come when it comes. Right now, I have to go apologize to Liara for claiming she didn't do anything on those 1000 screens. I'll be back later. _

_Blacksmith, out. _

* * *

Edited: For grammar issues.

We are currently at 380 views, 4 reviews, 5 favs, and 4 alerts! That is probably the best I have done in a story ever! Thanks a lot for sticking with me through the thick and the thin. I have some thanks to hand out!

AlanthePaladin (You are a cool bro man. I loved playing with you on Xbox. Sorry I've been sort of busy lately)

Ancolie

Asari Master

DawnMaster1247

TW6464

Pen and Boad

The Rahkshi Writer (Man, I look forward to your reviews every time I post. People like you inspire a writer to keep going!)

Thanks for all the support!

**I would also like to thank:**

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For being my beta! You are such a selfless person! ;)

**And my two closest friends**

MrChar: For just being there dude.

Nokyo-chan: For eventually reading all of my chapters!

See you guys next chapter!


	6. Episode 6: Sharia and Jaryn:The Nice Guy

**Episode 6: Jaryn and Sharia: The Nice Guy **

Sharia was excited; Jaryn, however, was not.

Sharia dragged her fiancée by the hand, a smile on her face. She could see the nervousness in his glances. He looked at the front door with horror, like in some twisted way she was sending him to the underworld. In some ways, she was. Behind that door was one thing that even the devil feared, a very thing that sent demons to their knees. It was a horrible concoction of temper, fire, and judgment. It was Sharia's father, Erick…and he hadn't met Jaryn yet.

_They never had a chance to meet,_ she thought. The N7 Demolisher had met Jaryn a long time ago in mission on Firebase Glacier a while back. She hadn't thought much of him when they were in the shuttle together. He barely talked, looking rather broody like the rest of his race did. But he had one thing that most of them lacked: a smile. He would often look away from the dark skinned woman every time their eyes met with a little smirk. He would quickly rearrange his face when he found that he was caught. It was amusing at first, until she started doing the same.

When they landed together that first time, they ended up being one of the best duos in the corp. Jaryn often ran dry out of his special biotic grenades known as X9Clusters. As their name suggested, he held nine; that didn't stop him from coming to her for more. He always sprinted towards her supply depot after a wave—but not after he had taken out at least two to three dozens of enemies. Needless to say, he was really polite about using her grenades, apologizing profusely about the over-usage. He would bow, smile, and continue of his way with his M-358 Talon ready for the next round of troops.

It wasn't until the last wave where he saved her life with one of those grenades and a medigel that she felt affection for him. Of course, he was apologizing for even allow her to get harmed. It was his fault that she was being careless. But there he was, feeling bad about himself for even letting that happen. Of course, her first instinct was to slap him for being so nice, but the next was to kiss him.

The triumph on Firebase Glacier sent good signals through their chains of command (his chain was a lot thinner than hers). They did everything in their power to keep these two people together. After a while, they just come to expect each other's company. Soon they began talking outside of battle. They started conversations with each other, longing each other's company. When away, they prayed for each other's safety throughout the war, and their prayers were answers.

Two years after the Reaper War and countless dates and smiles, he proposed to her. And here they were standing at her parent's front door. As usually, he was filled with utter terror. But Sharia was confident, confident that at least he might not die in this encounter. It was the holidays, and maybe dad was in a great mood. The worse that could happen was a lot of yelling, and an incorrect usage of a steak knife.

Sharia rapped on the door, dancing impatiently in her strapless black dress.

"Uh-maybe they aren't home," Jaryn muttered nervously. Obviously, he was hoping that this was the case.

"No, I just sent my mom a message, they're home," Sharia smiled.

Jaryn gave a bit of a gulp, shuffling his feet. "Maybe—maybe I shouldn't come…I mean this is a human holiday and—"

"Jaryn," Sharia scowled, and the man retreated. "You promised that if I said yes, you would finally meet my parents."

He muttered something unintelligible, probably in his native language. As much as Jaryn wanted to protest, he couldn't get past that glare. So he kept quiet, nervously shaking.

"You are nice man that looks incredibly dashing in human clothes. You didn't have to do that, you know?"

Honestly, it surprised her. Jaryn always wore human clothes to their dates. But she had expected him to be in something a little more towards his people to meet her parents. Instead, he had showed up with his collared plaid blue shirt, a leather coat, and a pair of jeans. She didn't care what he came in (to some extent), but he looked handsome.

"Just—thought it was appropriate, you know. I," he stuttered a bit from nervousness, "And you said I looked nice."

Her cheeks lit aflame with warmth, despite the cold weather. He was just too adorable.

She planned to turn around to give him a kiss, but the door swung open. Sharia cursed underneath her breath.

There stood a very intimidating dark man, much shorter than Jaryn or Sharia. Yet, he stood at his height proudly. The dark man wore only a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of blue camouflaged pants, answering the frigid weather of Vancouver barefoot. Yet he held the grandeur as if he was dressed in dress blues. His dark eyes narrowed, brow already dripping sweat down the bridge nose. He ran fingers through peppered grey hair. This was Erick, the Demon of Vancouver.

Sharia wished with all of her heart that was an exaggeration. But it was very true. Like herself, Erick was an N7. N7 Paladin, master of Incinerate and Snap Freeze tech that was known for taking more than his share of blood in a battle. It was that and his nasty usage of a flaming shield that engulfed men like they were made of wood. He would protect his teammates and kill anyone in his way that thought otherwise. This was especially the case when it came to his daughter. She put a smile quickly.

"DADDY!" Sharia flung herself over the shoulder of her thinly built father.

"Sharia," he spoke simply, but lovingly. His dark brown eyes were focused not on his daughter however, but towards the person behind his daughter.

Never before had Jaryn wanted to jump into the nearest bush to avoid a glance.

Feeling the awkwardness from both parties, Sharia created some space between the two of them. She squared her shoulders, clamping her hands together in front of herself. "Dad, this is the guy I was talking about. This is Jaryn."

Erick approached his future son-in-law, completely unaware of the thinness of his clothes. He held no expression. Jaryn however, did. His entire face seemed to be nervously awaiting a punch, some awful tech, or worse a shotgun to the gullet. Instead, the smaller human just growled like a rabid animal. He opened his mouth to speak, "You brought a batarian home, Sharia."

Sharia just nodded, even though Erick wasn't facing her.

Erick growled again, stepping closer to the much taller batarian man. "Are you some slaver scum? Some kind of bandit." His voice sounded raspy up close as though he could cut through steel with it. "What did you do to convince my daughter…marry…" he spat the word out, "something like you."

"I didn't convince her anything, sir. I-I just-  
"We fell in love, dad," Sharia interrupted quickly. Jaryn nodded rapidly in confirmation.

Erick opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the shouting of his wife inside of the house.

"ERICK!"  
"Layla," he said, hardly shouting, but his voice still boomed.

"Is Sharia and her friend here? Bring them in already! And come inside before you catch cold!"

Sharia never felt more satisfied to hear her mother's voice. She was always much more reasonable than her father. Though she wasn't a soldier by any means, she managed somehow to keep him in check. And if anyone would accept Jaryn, it would be her. She had dealt with many more aliens outside of battle than Erick and knew that all of them had good and bad in all of them. Maybe she should start there. Or maybe…Jaryn's natural personality could win father dearest over.

Time will tell. She just hoped that her fiancée doesn't die from a heart attack first.

"Come in…" Erick growled, his bare feet shattering ice underneath his bare heel as he walked back in

Jaryn turned his head towards Sharia. All four of his eyes danced back and forth towards the open door. "He's gonna kill me," the batarian said lowly. "He's gonna kill me, honey…"

"He would have to get through me first, come on..."

* * *

"Batarian Slasher? Some kind of biotic."

Jaryn nodded nervously. He constantly stabbed at the slice of meat on his plate, turkey they called it. However, his stomach shook too fearfully to consume anything on the plate. Maybe he would eat after the constant staring from Erick subsided. He thought about politely asking him to stop. But every time he opened his mouth, he felt like he might get stabbed in one of his eyes. So, ultimately, he decided against it.

"He's pretty amazing with his biotics, Dad! You don't hear a lot about batarian biotics because the gift and the means to get the ability are considered a good sign amongst their people."

Erick seemed to just shrug that information aside. "So…what does he do for a living?"

This was the question that neither Jaryn nor Sharia wanted to answer.

From the outside point of view, it would look horrible. They would have to somewhat time their responses perfectly to avoid the natural jump to conclusions; as Sharia would say, avoid the whole jumping from the letter A to number 10. Either that…or….word in a way that made it seems a lot better. Sharia played with the wording in her head. It needed to be careful. It needed to be precise. It needed to be…

"I'm mercenary," Jaryn blurted out courageously. It needed _not _to be blunt.

Sharia slammed her head against the table. _Why are you so damn honest,_ she shouted mentally.

"You're a what?"

"He's a merc, dad," she said, hoping that the cherry-wood table would muffle her words.

"I'm—notta bad merc or anything," Jaryn said, now realizing the flushing of Erick's dark skin and foam oozing from his mouth.

Jaryn had to watch Erick bubble over with anger. Every fiber of his being seemed to be looking for something adequate to kill this batarian scum quickly. Luckily, Erick was eating soup at the time. All of the other silverware was on their side of the table…and that was no coincidence.

"I knew it, Layla,"Erick shouted. "I knew that he had to be part of some merc band!"

_This was a typical reaction from father,_ Sharia thought. She couldn't even bring herself to look at her fiancée's horrified expression. Of course, that is all he heard. He thought mercenary and instantly jumped to pirates, thieves, and cut-throats. Yes. He was paid for firing his weapon or crushing men with his warps. Yet, he never raised his hand to any innocent, never even thought about taking a job where innocent could be hurt.

That was the way of the Winter Moon.

Sharia quickly snapped her head off, warding off the headache she just gave herself. "Jaryn!"

The batarian covered in sweat, wiped off beads from his thin brown and white fur of his face. "Y—yeah, sweetie."

"Repeat the Winter Moon oath. The oath that you made as their leader."

"You are a leader of a merc band!"

"Dad!" Sharia shouted. "Let him speak!"  
"You really shouldn't yell at your dad," Jaryn responded meekly, sinking into his chair. "I could leave—"

"No. He's going to listen to you!" Sharia, furious herself now, turned to her father. "You are going to listen to him, father!"

For once, Erick's eyes went big. Sharia never yelled at him, never got angry. But there she was, shouting at the top of her lungs. Worse of all, she never used father. "He's a good man! His group has never hurt anyone that hasn't needed to be hurt. They protect the weak in the Terminus Systems…the people that the Alliance and the Council forget about!"

Erick donned a new expression. It was hard to describe, but he was listening now.

Jaryn took a deep breath, taking advantage of the opportunity that was given to him. "Protect those who cannot protect themselves. We will protect them, through the good and the bad, through the glory and hatred. To those who ask and those to prideful to ask, we will be there for them. We are the Winter-Moon guardians that no one knows about, but it always there."

Jaryn finally gave a smile of his own. If there was one thing that he was proud about, it was his group of men. They were the nicest and most dangerous brotherhood around. No nonsense protection with limitless camaraderie. He went on to explain, we just a bit of confidence, about his work. There were plenty of planets, plenty of colonies that he made just a little better with his group's presence.

Winter-Moon was picky about their work. They worked up to get where they were. They didn't claw, and take any job that they felt the group needed. Yes, they didn't make as much credits as the Blue Suns or the Bloodpack, but they had a reputation—a good one. Plenty of people didn't even think of them as a merc group, but they were guns for hire and they were good at what they did.

The leader of merc went through several stories. He ended with a small one about an Alliance colony that was raided by the remains of Cerberus. The batarian gave an accurate account of what they brought, what they helped with despite natural distrust in the Terminus systems. "It was the most extraordinary experience, sir….I may not look like I'm much help to universe. I'll admit my race have done some really bad things. But—"He looked down for a moment, but Sharia nudged him on with her elbow. "I'm good person…and I'll treat your daughter with the utmost respect, even more than I treat anyone else."

There was silence for a moment. Erick fiddled with his fork now, stabbing at the turkey for a while. He didn't know what to say. Sharia watched as her father bit his lower tongue, angrily. It wasn't until Layla danced into the room where he somewhat changed expression.

The beautiful brown woman smiled as she took her place beside her husband. Obviously, she had been in the doorway the entire time, listening with dessert in hand. Layla placed the pie down in the table, giggling. She moved her hair from her face smiling.

"Pie anyone!" she announced, before turning to her husband. "I guess none for you, honey. You are probably full on crow."

Erick pitched the bridge of his nose, sweeping back his long greying hair in embarrassment. "Just be quiet, Layla. Not another word."

She didn't have to. He was dead wrong, and now everyone knew it.

* * *

The rest of the night went pretty well after that. Conversations came and went, and other members of Sharia's family poured in. Much like Erick, it took some time for them to get adjusted to the four eyed man in the room. However, they soon got over it and many of them enjoyed the company. Before long, the night died down, and everyone went their separate ways.

It was late at night when the two had some time to themselves. They sat outside. It was snowing. Jaryn had wrapped his arms around Sharia's shoulder, allowing his large jacket blanket both of them. They stared at the sky for a while, quietly enjoying each other's presence.

She looked towards Jaryn, who appeared to be falling asleep a little bit.

"Jaryn…sorry for not convincing my father sooner on how good of a person you BEFORE you came here."

"I would have been fine if you told him that I was…well," he looked down and gave a toothy grin. "You know."  
"Don't be ashamed about what you are. Just be yourself. That's all you can be."

She gave him a quiet kiss, feeling more than happy that they met and made it through this.

* * *

**Codex**

Winter Moon Mercenary

Leader: Jaryn Vaer

Co-Leader: Rell of Clan Atrak

Lartius Var'kul

Founded: 2185

Races: Batarian, Human, Turian, Krogan, Asari, and Salarian

Stationed: Bekke, Terminus System

Merc Group Specializations: Tech, Biotic, and Assault Rifles

_Winter Moon _was founded in 2185 during the invasion of the Collector Troops on the human colonies. However, this was not the reason this group was formed. Winter Moon was inspired by the actions of a vigilante by the name of Arch-Angel, known for his fight against the three ruthless gangs that plagued Omega. Winter Moon was the answer to Arch-Angel's call of righteousness, keeping the hero alive in a way.

Jaryn, the leader of Winter-Moon, was directly affected by the Sidonis' betrayal on the group. His brother, a Batarian Engineer by the name of Barer Vaer, was a member of Arch-Angel's team. During that time, he would often receive different types of messages coming from his brother—who for once in his life felt like he was doing something right. So in fact, Winter-Moon was not only living on Arch-Angels foundation; but, also a living and thriving memorial of doing what's right for the galaxy no matter who you are.

They are a thriving force in change with the new Reaper-less galaxies. They have shown that unity can persist through many races, despite their differences.

* * *

Hello everyone! Sorry for the late end of the year post! Happy Holidays!

_This chapter may or may not describe some of the holiday problems that I saw in my own family. Anyway!_

_ I just wanted to thank everyone for being incredibly supportive of Affinity. I'm so happy to announce that it has reached 491 views, 6 favs, and 5 alerts! With everything else from my other site, it has reached OVER 1000 views! Thanks so much for the support in this! Thank you! _

Thanks to my favorites and alerts list:

Akz251

AlanthePaladin

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Dawnstar1247

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_Also, this is an important notice! _The next chapter is going to be done by a friend of mine! She liked the idea of Affinity so she is writing a guest chapter! Be prepared, it is a good one from what I hear!

Keep it coming guys!


	7. Episode 7: Vinnus and Wreavus: Brothers

**Episode 7: Vinnus and Wreavus: Brotherly…Love**

A/N: Hello guys! How's it going? Just wanted to inform you that this is a short guest chapter from my close and best friend, Nokyo-Chan! I hope that you enjoy! The Codex at the end, however, was made by me.

* * *

Omega was awful. Crowded, dangerous, smelly. Spirits, was it smelly. Press a bunch of different species into a hot, crowded place, and you were bound to get a whole lot of smells you didn't even know existed. Smells that made your fringe twitch and your eyes water.

Vinnus bypassed the line out in front of Afterlife and walked straight up to the door. The batarian bouncer checked his datapad as he approached, then let him pass into the club without a word. Vinnus didn't waste a greeting on him as he breezed through.

The music became so loud it was almost deafening as he stepped into the club. He gritted his teeth and headed for the bar. He hated clubs. He hated Omega. He hated Afterlife. But he was meeting someone here.

He settled into a barstool and ordered a dextro scotch-on-the-rocks. He usually wasn't one for alcohol. He pulled the glass to him and kept it close, eyeing the other patrons. Couldn't be too careful on Omega.

Minutes ticked by. People danced. The music pounded. The entertainers moved lithely. The people at the bar lost interest in him. He clutched his scotch without drinking it.

Finally, through the noise of the bar, he heard an unmistakable yell. A long, wild _whoop!_, growing steadily louder. The crowd on the dance floor seemed to ripple and morph, forming around a new epicenter, which seemed to be moving closer. At length, the edge of the crowd broke, and a dancing turian clad in white armor made his merry way off the dance floor, a volus and a krogan in tow. People of all races were laughing and trying to pull him back into the crowd, seemingly oblivious to the assault rifle strapped to his back, but he danced free and gave a theatrical bow. "Later, my lovelies!" he told them, and then blew the crowd a kiss.

With a disappointed sigh, the crowd folded back to the dance floor, and the turian, krogan, and volus made their way to the bar. Grinning, the turian flopped into the barstool beside Vinnus. "Bartender!" he called jovially. "Pour me something _exciting_!"

The turian bartender cracked a smile. "Better be glad it's me and not Logder pouring the drinks tonight," he said as he pulled several dextro-liquors from the shelf. "He'd make sure you got some exciting poison."

"More's the pity." The turian turned to Vinnus. "What's up, bro?"

Vinnus took a long drink of his scotch before responding. "Wreavus. You certainly draw attention to yourself."

"I just know how to party," Wreavus replied easily. "So, these are my _compadres_. This here is Rypht, a true krogan battlemaster. You'd think his kill count would be higher."

"I'll kick your ass," Rypht grunted in reply.

Wreavus laughed. "And this little guy is Weebles."

The volus didn't notice his own introduction, as he was valiantly attempting to climb onto a barstool. Rypht reached down, grabbed the back of his suit, and hauled him up to the bar.

"One—_chkk_—tequila sunrise," he was saying before he had even been placed in his seat.

"You keep some strange company," Vinnus noted, watching as Rypht and Weebles bickered over something, the volus's speech quick but halting, the krogan's a slow rumble.

"I'd die for these fellas," Wreavus replied, accepting his drink from the bartender. His face grew serious for just a moment. "I damn near almost have."

"That's because you can't watch your ass with those jetpacks," Rypht growled.

"You should—_chkk_—leave the charging—_chkk_—to the professionals," Weebles added.

"What do you know about charging, Weebles? You look like a stuffed toy out there," Wreavus shot back.

"Whatever—_chkk_—Palaven-clan. You're just—_chkk_—jealous because all the ladies—_chkk_—wanna cuddle—_chkk_—with the Weebles."

Vinnus took another long drink of scotch. "Wreavus," he said, trying to call his brother's attention back to him.

"Vinnus." Wreavus mocked his serious tone.

"Do you have…?"

"Oh! Yeah." He pulled a slip of paper from a pocket in his armor and said, imitating Vinnus's tone once more, "Date, time, place of next expected Cerberus attack. Hard-copy, because _datapads can be hacked_." His voice returned to normal. "Mom's birthdate is on there too. It's coming up, and you know how she gets if her favorite son forgets to call."

Vinnus scowled and tucked the paper into his own pocket. "I _know_ Mom's birthday."

Wreavus cracked a wicked grin. "I notice you didn't deny you were her favorite son."

Vinnus took another drink before replying. "Why do you hang out on this filthy rock? It's dangerous here. Any of those people out on that dance floor could shoot you as easily as dance with you."

"That's what makes it _fun_, bro!" Wreavus picked up his drink and downed it in one gulp. "_Whooo!_ That had some _kick_ to it, Frae!" he called to the bartender, who nodded and grinned. Wreavus stood from the barstool, then turned to his brother and clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in. "Hey, man. Why don't you let us come with you on this mission?" He jerked his head to indicate his friends. "We'd make one hell of a squad."

Vinnus narrowed his eyes. "I think I'll pass."

"Come on, bro. You know I gots the _skills_ to make some _kills_."

"Still think—"

"The _need_ to make 'em _bleed_."

"Still gonna go with—"

"The _haps_ to pop some _caps_."

"These are making less sense—"

"The…uh…I wanted that to end with _kill some bitches_ but couldn't think of a rhyme. But you get the picture!"

Vinnus shook his head. "No. I've got a squad."

"Come on, bro! We haven't seen any action in _weeks_."

"I wonder why."

"We're gettin' antsy!"

"Well, you'll just have to get un-antsy with someone else." Vinnus took a sip of his drink. "Thanks for the intel."

Knowing the dismissal for what it was, Wreavus nodded. "Suit yourself! You know where to find me if you change your mind." He threw a credit chit beside his empty glass. "Yo, _compadres_! Back into the fray!"

Rypht slid from his barstool and lifted Weebles off his in one smooth motion. "Dunno why I bother. No females here."

"I've—_chkk_—got my eye on—_chkk_—an asari," Weebles said as Rypht easily deposited him onto the floor.

Rypht snorted. "Slippery, soft little things. Nowhere to get a good grip. Teeth aren't anywhere near strong enough."

"Good to see you again, bro," Wreavus said, heading after his friends.

"Stay safe," Vinnus called after him.

"Have fun!" he retorted.

Vinnus watched him walk away, already moving to the beat of the music, warming up to jump back into dancing. And then, suddenly, he spun around, jogging backwards as he shouted back.

"Hey! Got some _itches_ to _kill_ _some bitches_! _Itchin' _to _kill some_—I'll work on it!" And then he disappeared into the crowd.

Vinnus sighed. He drained his glass, shook it to watch the ice clink around inside it, and then got to his feet, pushing his glass away and tossing a credit chit onto the bar. "Brothers," he muttered, and left the club, leaving the pounding music of Afterlife behind.

* * *

**Codex **

HAVOC Packs

Hyper-gravitational-Aerial–Velocity-Oxygen-Combat Packs or the HAVOC packs are an elite military grade weapon issued under Primarch Victus's command in 2186 AE.

A project group of turian scientists, led by Dr. Altus Catos, first developed the technology as a tool for work labor in fairly high skyline buildings on Palaven to avoid unnecessary usage of Element Zero. It wasn't adopted as a weapon until Altus, a fairly wild thinker, took one out for a joy ride and ended up crashing almost full force into a building. Luckily, he survived albeit a quite a few broken bones and some internal bleeding.

From his hospital bed, he developed blue prints for a suit of armor that would be strong enough to withstand the experimental packs at full force and even yield significant damage output. He theorized with a few of his fellow scientist, mostly salarian and asari, that this could be used as a great weapon for the council races. It was quickly rejected, and he was somewhat made the laughing stock of his peers. That, however, did not stop him from bringing the plans constantly to the hierarchy of the turian government.

Within the Reaper War of 2186, it was finally passed as a weapon after constant testing by several more adventurous turians and one incredibly open minded Primarch. They developed precise lock-on technology in conjunction with internal cooling systems to pass the remainder of safety regulations. Now, HAVOC soldiers are quite possibly one of the most risky yet most powerful soldiers available aside from the biotic vanguards.

* * *

I will like to thank everyone that has followed me for so long! We are at 660 views! Again, I will like to thank Nokyo for providing her cast of characters (everyone in this chapter besides Rypht is hers). I hope to see more from you!

Thanks to my followers and favorites:

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Let's keep this thing going!

In case you guys didn't know, I've be working on Blacksmith's and Rowan's story off and on. If you haven't checked out my Tali and Rowan Shepard one-shot, click on my name and look for the story titled, Stability! Thanks for following.


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